Bedrock of the Betmer
by DeusExfreak
Summary: Little is known about the history of Argonians and what is naturally fortified in the inner swamps, but when four are given a surprising assignment from the Elder Council, they may come to understand the cost of ignorance. Constructive crit encouraged.
1. Introduction

Hi there, reader. This chapter isn't truly part of the storyline, but I highly recommend you read it before you go onto the later chapters. This introduction is meant to clear up which sides I'm taking with seemingly contradictory pieces of the Elderscrolls lore, and list changes or creations I've made to the lore. I really hope it isn't considered a violation of this site's code of conduct even though it is relevant to the story. Note, unlike in my previous Oblivion story, I won't be posting important but clear-cut game lore in this introduction. Instead that will be provided through snippets of text at the beginning of each chapter.

This story is a sequel to Rogue Province, Rogue Agent, but reading through that story beforehand is not crucial to your understanding of this one. Infact, most of what happened in that story will be revealed through this one. Keep in mind, that means this story has spoilers for Rogue Province, Rogue Agent. Also, on the subject of spoilers, I should mention there are also spoilers for the Dark Brotherhood and main questline.

I should also note that even though this introduction may look very similar to the one in Rogue Province, Rogue Agent, my take on the Elder Scrolls lore is not _identical_ to what it was in my previous story (see "**Argonian Phsyiology**").

Now, onto the lore:

**The Black Hand (the ruling council of the Brotherhood)**: The idea I got from the Oblivion was that there are multiple Dark Brotherhood sanctuaries scattered throughout Cyrodiil, each overseen by a "finger" of the Black Hand. I decided to do away with this idea.

Instead, assume the Cheydinhal Sanctuary is the only Dark Brotherhood sanctuary in CYRODIIL, but there are others in Tamriel: one in Morrowind, one in Skyrim, and one in High Rock. (The Speakers of these sanctuaries are the four fingers of the Black Hand, the thumb being the Listener)

**Argonian Physiology**

I know Argonians looked different throughout the series. In Morrowind, they looked far less human than in Oblivion. Its probably better to type "Morrowind Argonian" into a google image search than read any description I could come up with, and I think it's safe to assume you already know what the ones in _Oblivion_ look like (given that this is the Oblivion section). In this story, imagine both types of Argonians exist, but the less human looking version is rarely seen outside of Morrowind and the inner swamps of Black Marsh. Why this is the case will be explained later in this story (in fact, it relates to one of the key points of the plot).

At the very least, be prepared to think of the "Oblivion" Argonians more as humans with lizardy characteristics than lizards with humany characteristics. For example, though it seems all Argonians are refered to as reptiles, making these Argonians truly cold-blooded would have made some scenes (like those in Bruma) from the previous story, which takes place in the same universe, impossible. I'm aware full-blown lizards don't have breasts, don't sweat, and need to regulate their own body-temperatures.

Also, while we're talking about Argonian phsyiology, I should mention Argonian reproduction seems to be an ambigous area in the lore. The Argonian Compendium (an information source about Argonians in the Imperial Library website) cites e-mail replies from two devs who were asked whether Argonians lay eggs. According to the Argonian Compendium, Pete Hines says "Argonians are ovoviviparous." meaning they produce eggs that hatch within or immediately after extrusion from the parent. However, the other dev cited, Mark Nelson, says:

_Never underestimate the adaptability of Argonians, or, more specifically, the power of the Hist to allow Argonians to adapt. _

_I wouldn't expect to hear an Argonian born in Skyrim (or on Solstheim, for that matter) mention being hatched. Nor would I expect to hear more transient Argonians (say, members of a small, nomadic tribe) speak about laying eggs. However, in warmer climates, in places with established, stable, and permanent communities, you would likely see a great number of eggs._

The Argonian Compendium acknowledges these ideas (Pete Hine's and Mark Nelson's) seem contradictory. For this story, imagine the "Oblivion" Argonians are ovoviviparous, while the "Morrowind" Argonians lay eggs. However, I'm thinking of this difference in reproduction as a geneticly, instead of enviromentally, induced one. Anyway, I shall say no more as that might hint at some spoilers for this story.

On one more note about Argonian phsyiology, given that this was brought up by a reader of my previous story, I should mention I've decided the "Oblivion" Argonians are supposed to have humanesque nails, as opposed to claws. The "Morrowind" Argonians, however, do have claws (which are deadlier than human nails).

**Argonian Race Classification:**

Since Black Marsh is so isolated I decided that Argonians using traditional race classification from Oblivion didn't make much sense. Because of this, some of the Argonian characters may refer to everyone as Human (this encompasses both men and mer), Khajiiti, Orcish, Finned, Spiked, or Spined, the latter three being different types of Argonians based on the different "hair-styles" available to Argonians in the game, which I made the assumption are derived from regional heritage in Black Marsh. However, "Human" may also be used as a generic term for all those listed above. On the subject of race classification, also note "Cyrodiil" is another term for "Imperial" (though may also simply mean someone who lives in Cyrodiil).

**Language:**

In this story, Cyrodiillic is a language identical to English. However, please note some dialogue in this story will be in the Argonian language and translated into English for the reader. Such text (Argonian translated to English) will be **bolded, like this**. Keep in mind, this dialogue is not supposed to be a literal translation; Its simply trying to capture the essence of the conversation.

I should also point out Argonian names are translated during dialogue in Argonian. For example, "Tienaava" becomes "**Cleaver** ". On the topic of names, I decided that because Shadowscales spend their whole life training to be, or actually being, assassins, their names derive from behaviors they exhibit during training, or how they expect these behaviors to play out in their career as an assassin. That's why the main character has a name like **"Fights-up-close"**. Because these names could arouse suspicion, I decided all the Shadowscales have code-names as well, which sound more typical (for example, "Scar-tail" is just a code name in this story).

**Female Soldiers:**

Whether there are supposed to be female soldiers in the Legion and various forms of city-watch was never really clear to me. Its odd that you see female guard captains, but almost no female low ranking soldiers. Anyway, for this story, I decided to assume the city-watch roles could incorporate women, but the Imperial Legion (which is more of a military than a police force) was limited to only male members.

**The Effect of Birthsigns:**

The information regarding the extent birthsign effects a person in the Elder Scrolls universe isn't clear. In the in-game books, it sounds as if the whole concept might as well be a superstition. Still, in terms of _your _character, your birthsign grants you some pretty potent powers that no one could deny truly exist.

For this story, I decided that those born under the sign of the Shadow are more unique, and it is one of the only birthsigns with a clear and provable effect.

**Accents**:

Though no such concept was really present in Oblivion, I thought it would make sense that each province had its own local accent. I'll leave exactly what these accents would sound like up to you, but keep an eye out from references to concepts like "a thick Nordic accent".

**Scale:**

In the game, I'm sure Cyrodiil's "true" size was scaled down so that the game wouldn't take decades to produce. For this story, however, imagine Cyrodiil being significantly larger and more populated than it is in the game.

* * *

Please be honest with your reviews. I'd like to hear your impressions, even when they are just that. 

Also, this time around I won't be waiting until after the story is finished to make revisions to chapters. I will record which chapters have been edited in the authors note at the top (A/N). So...uh...yeah.

On with the story!


	2. Prologue

"The coral kingdoms of Thras, a set of islands southwest of the Chain in the Abecean Sea, are home to a godless tribe of beastmen called the Sload. These amphibious slugmen, perhaps the most hated race in all of Tamriel, were long thought to be extinct. After the Sload released the Thrassian Plague in 1E2200, which claimed more than half of the continent's population, the largest allied naval force in Tamrielic history sailed to Thras, slaughtered all the Sload they could find, and, with great unknown magicks, sunk their coral kingdoms into the sea.

Sadly, it has been reported that Thras has risen again, and that its masters, the Sload, have recently been seen in various areas of Tamriel."

-Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 2, 2E 559

(**Shows-his-interest**): South of Stormhold, Black Marsh

* * *

The chirping insects, the crackling fire, and the russeling of the leaves all blended together placidly in the night outside the teepee. But it was the silence of loss and death that had brought me here in the first place. It was the yearning for change that showed me what was behind the supposed divinity of our trees, and showed me there was a cold and empty void in our lives that we had wrongfully assumed they'd filled. 

And even though there shouldn't have been another terror for miles, there was a hint of fear in me. A tension wrapped tightly around me as I plotted things they would hunt me down like no other Argonian for. I always felt this way in my second life, my secret life as an avenger. But now there were new feeling mixed in as I knew tonight would be the beginning of my experimentation; the initial research was finished.

I wasn't used to being on the brink of something that could give us the upper hand against those seemingly unstoppable forces of outside, though, so I couldn't help but feel uneasy and doubtful of my findings, fearful I'd lose them somehow, or overthink things and have my plans eroded by insanity. We Argonians were all used to oppression, so I supposed I wasn't all that odd for this feeling of insecurity. It felt like I had to fight my own mind to not let my instinctual doubt dissect my plans again. I tried to keep them in the back of my mind so they could emerge fresh when it was time for them to be applied. I just hoped N'Shanta would arrive before I could corrupt my own plans in another moment of self-doubt.

I decided to look over the tablets again, trying to reinforce my theory. The shadows of the tablets twitched against the walls of the tee-pee in the orange fire light. Each tablet was donated by a separate tribe after rigorous hours of negotiation, and handed over only because they knew I was the thread that could bind the tribes together and make us an intimidating force for our enemies.

Every tablet showed the Hist trees and the Argonians in some sacred tale of some tribal religion. The rest was variable: On one it looked as if lizards were coming into one side of the Hist tree and Argonians out the other. On another it depicted the trees smacking away the an invading human menace while the Argonians stood behind it, the sacred tree the only thing between them and death. On yet another, it showed a maniacal looking khajiit supposedly desecrating a tree, while Argonians charged heroically to bring the defiler to justice.

Each was a tale from a different religion, but the Hist was a divine parental figure to every tribe.

I had once been immersed in such religion, but now my career as a "**shaman**" was just a mask for the fact that my interest in the trees had become dry and scientific. The more I researched, the more my belief in their divinity waned.

I had searched so deep for answers to our problems because I was so desperate to find a way out of the storm of anguish caused by my tribe's constant losses at the hands of slavers and warlords. My findings had allowed me to emerge from the storm, but my journey into the dark edges of our history had not come without cost. I had made my way back to a world I used to know, one with hope, but founds its sky gray; to find a solution to the foreign menaces, I was forced to look at the Hist pragmatically. I was forced to shed my belief that the Hist had held an invisible embrace around our people.

Every tribal religion had a _piece_ of the truth of what truly happened to shape Tamriel before the arrival of the terrors that plagued us now, but with its crucial details distorted by the winds of history.

We had all gawked like fools at the trees when we had barely begun to understand their powers. But far worse, we let purely chance events related to the trees control us. For so long, we were really tugged around by unthinking forces of nature, putting our intelligence and emotion below them. But I was here to try to understand these trees and control them, so we could become something at least marginally like what we perceived the Hist as. We could finally remove our souls from the imprisonment of worship, and use the Hist to remove the injustice that preyed upon our people.

Then I heard something outside. Something large was emerging from the water. I knew it was the Sload I had scheduled a meeting with.

N'Shanta exchanged greetings with the look-outs outside the teepee.

My anticipation grew. I would finally get to put the plan I'd constructed out into the world to leave its mark.

The Sload emerged through the front entrance, the flaps brushing against the sides of "his" massive girth. The Sload was telekenetically carrying a bundle of sealed jars. Eight in total, but coming in two versions that differed in size and color. I knew what they were: the disease and the cure.

N'Shanta set them down on a cloth I'd laid out.

The Sload began to turn towards me, a slow and cumbersome process for any of their kind on land.

I knew from the plan we'd layed out that in those jars was the future of Argonia. If this went according to planned, the potency of their contents would sweep across the land, destroying all the forgien menaces in its path while leaving my brothers and sisters unharmed. But for now, we needed to remain inconspicious, studying the power at hand, manipulating micro matters so that they might grow into epic solutions.

When the Sload was facing me, "he" gave me a goofy, almost deranged looking grin. But I knew it looked so awkward only because our body language was not instinctual to him as it would be to a man or khajiit, a phenomenon our true history explained. I smiled back in a quick greeting.

N'Shanta began to speak, slowly and with odd emphasises, not a seasoned speaker of our language. "**I brought the cure and plague samples, but remember our previous conversation: learn from our mistakes, as they learned from theirs.**" N'Shanta said in a low voice. There shouldn't have been any Dunmer or Cyrodiils for miles, but it was only natural to speak conspiratively on such a defiant and fragile mission. "**The orange** **liquid is the cure. The clear liquid is the plague. You must be very careful. The cure will kill the plague, but you must be sure you do not lose your control on the plague. This is very important for your people."**

"**I understand." **I replied, a lot more crisply. We'd gone over this before, but with the severity of the stakes at hand, I couldn't blame him for repeating himself. "**I **_**promise, **_**I'll make sure** **it's modified before I let it touch anyone but me."**

There was a touching feeling of unity through this all. We were all united against the exploitive foreigners, and I knew they'd done far worse to the Sload than my own people.

"**Good," **he replied "**It is a very noble thing you are doing. But for discression, I must leave you now.** **Goodbye.** **I want your idea to work.**"

He turned again to leave the tee-pee. I felt almost guilty as I reflected on what he was doing for me and my people knowing, as of now, I could give him nothing back.

N'Shanta made "his" way out of the tent, leaving me alone with the chemicals. Everything else around me was rhythmic, the night putting all its attention on me as my friend had faded into the grace of the nearby river.

I looked down at all the substances once again as my feeling of inner-charge grew. I already had several cups of Hist sap prepared, and I could think of nothing more necessary to begin the experiment. An excitement began flowing through my veins. I could feel it in my hands as they moved to touch the jar.

I stroked the glass on the jar of clear liquid, forcing myself to confirm that I was willing to touch the plague. I could feel an odd sensation in my hands as I did. I could feel the adrenaline, thrill, and fear digging deeper than ever before as I knew I was close to the beginning of a breakthrough or the end of my life. But I knew it was worth the risk: when the warlords and slavers fled or died, I would no longer have to wake up tense as I waited to hear if anyone else in my tribe had been taken away, I would no longer sleep with nightmares that nearly matched the mornings they preceded, and nor would any other Argonians.

Now it was time to demonstrate all the mental ground I gained, giving it an imprint in reality before self doubt could set me back from my potential. I grabbed the glass of the jar and grasped the lid tightly, then strangled the edges of the lid with my hands as I twisted it until the top loosened.

The jar was opened to the air in my own little sanctuary of quiet progress. The liquid was a habitat for tiny creatures, too small to see, according to the Sload. It was a new age for Argonia in my hands, while those to the North and West continued their clumsy, arrogant destruction habitually.

I moved a cup of Hist sap closer to the jar, ready to test my first theory. Then I wrapped my hands around the jar of clear liquid and slowly and carefully titled it towards the cup of sap. As soon as I realized it was breaking the threshold of containment, when a subtle splash hit the contents of the cup, I turned the jar back upright.

I picked up the knife, sharpened to perfection for a precise cut. My first theory would be my first test. If it worked, I could _drink _the clear liquid and not get sick.

I stuck out my left index finger, which would be donating blood for the experiment, and looked again at the sharp edge of the knife.

Then I held my shaking finger over the mixture in the cup. I brought the knife over to my finger, and made a silent, shallow sliced.

I felt an urge to shudder at the exquisitely acute, albeit subtle, pain, but simply dropped the dagger and squeezed the lower end of my cut finger. First just a subtle rupture in my flesh, the blood was soon to arrive. A drop formed on my finger, ready to mix with the sap.

There were subtle ripples as the first drop plunged into and permeated the mixture. I planned to wait for a second drop, wanting to make sure this first test counted. Maybe even a third.

Another drop of blood was forming on my finger. I continued my deep breathing in my state of excitement, odd sensations flowing through the viens and bones of my arms and hands.

If these subtle mixings could change those tiny creatures as I hoped, it would give us a weapon unprecedented in the Second Era, and open the door to further research that might give us power over the Earth bones unprecedented by mortals in all of Tamrielic history.


	3. Deciding, Predicting, and Remembering

A/N: I debated with myself a bit about writing these next seven chapters, given that the heart of the story is what happens in Black Marsh, making these seven chapters serve as a sort of (very lengthy) introductory sequence. However, I obviously did decide to write these, and while the setting is very different from that of the rest of the story (if I don't make big changes to the plot), these first seven chapters help to give a feel for the characters, and their experiences in these chapters _will_ play some parts in future events of the story.

"Beyond the reach of the Empire, there is little supervision of the inner swamplands, and it is unknown whether or not these areas even recognize Imperial rule of the Province." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Height 21, 4E1

**(Learns-fast)**: Near Applewatch

* * *

I knew sleep would feel so good now. For the first time in too long, I could feel content. Even if there was still a lot at stake, it was out of my court now. 

**Fights-up-close** was out of my hands. Her anti-Argonian-Royal-Court rantings made me nervous during our walk to Applewatch, but now that we were done with her I was sure I could convince the others it was just crazy talk. I could finally relax.

"**Where are we going now?**" I heard a voice from behind me ask. It was **Cleaver. **Odd he'd taken so long to ask that question. He'd been silent since I tossed **Fights-up-close** into Applewatch.

"**To bed.**" I stated dryly.

"**In the morning...**" He added in a gravely tone. It was evident that the exhaustion was weighing on him too.

It took me a couple of seconds to figure out what he meant: where would we go after we woke up. Then I realized that even when I understood what he meant, I didn't have an answer.

The fatigue washed away as the dilemma entered my mind.

Obviously **Surveys-from-above** would return to Black Marsh. But what about **Cleaver**? Should he return to the Cheydinhal sanctuary and hope it would get reoccupied? No...that seemed ridiculous. Besides, I'd had enough of the Dark Brotherhood for a while.

"**We're going back to Gideon**." I said.

We continued to walk down the path. It had been a tough day, but in some ways it was nice to shake things up a bit. Hell was repetition, and repetition was what I had when I had been trailing Lachance with anger dammed up inside me, waiting for him to mess up. The more I remembered the weeks I'd spent trailing Lucien, the less guilt I felt about my decision to make the Black Hand believe he was the traitor. Now I was feeling mix of hearty exhaustion and satisfaction as the crickets chirped and the stars shined all over the clear night sky.

Then I heard some unexpected words from **Surveys-from-above "Wait, both of us?"** He asked after the mysteriously long delay. It took me a few seconds to figure out what he meant, but then I remembered my previous statement (**"We're going back to Gideon"**)

"**Yes.**" I said firmly.

"**Are you sure that's what **Mr. Lachance **wants?**" He asked.

"**Yes.**" I stated again.

Yet as I remembered **Surveys-from-above** and **Cleaver** still thought Lucien was alive, other ideas were starting to creep into my head to bring down my mood. They would wonder what happened to Lachance. Even in Black Marsh they saw Lachance on a roughly monthly basis for the sake of training. I froze a bit after the epiphany hit me. I couldn't keep what I'd done secret forever.

Then I continued to walk, but now my mood was significantly soured and my thoughts were starting to speed up again. I realized my stress wasn't over. When the Dark Brotherhood found out what I did they would...who knew what they would do? Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

I could feel my heart rate increase even though I tried to appear unphased. I was beginning to feel sick again.

They had seen Lachance vindicated. They thought I had told the Black Hand of Lucien's innocence. If Lachance was gone, they would be suspicious, and soon the Argonian Royal Court and Dark Brotherhood would begin to piece together what I'd done.

I was worn out by internal conflict and I imagined the ecstasy I could get by just going into denial. But no, I couldn't make the same mistake again and follow short-term satisfaction. That would dig the pit further.

As we got closer to the city, I wracked my brain for some way to cover this up, but made no progress. It was just like those mind-aching times right after we'd left Bravil.

I still couldn't imagine how to cover-up or justify my behavior.

Then it hit me**: Surveys-from-above** and **Cleaver **needed to die.

Now I saw there was a solution, but I almost wished I didn't have any options. I ached at the thought of it: the difficulty of pulling this off safely, and the loss of two good agents after so many days of eagerness to bring them back would be hard, but it was the only way I knew to cover up my deeds and finally see the end of this mess. Both of those Shadowscales needed to die.

It seemed like it would take an extraordinary amount of willpower, but I knew that was all that was standing in my way. Willpower.

I felt a surge of pain as I realized how much I'd lost which I expected to gain. I once expected to have all three Shadowscales: **Fights-up-close**, **Cleaver**, and **Surveys-from-above,** back in my service; now I would have none.

I hated that little traitor **Goes-in-heavy** for putting me through this, and I hated Lachance for provoking me like this, but I never got the opportunity to kill either of those two. I was only getting the opportunity to kill two useful agents.

I hated this situation, but I knew I just had to do it. If only they weren't following behind me, then I could surely catch at least one off guard and make an easy kill.

There had to be someway I could pull this off without a serious risk of my own death. They were conditioned to trust me to no end, after all, whether or not that conditioning worked.

We continued to walk and I knew my window of opportunity was shrinking, but murder was an art as much as a science, so one couldn't rush it. I had to wait for a stroke of genius to come to my mind that could allow me to pull this off safely. If I didn't employ any sort of intelligent tactic to give me an advantage, I would definitely lose. I ached under the demands of the situation.

I felt frustrated at the barriers sleep put infront of my full cognitive potential as some thoughts fell out of my mind as I tried to plan. I felt useless in this state, but I needed to think of something before we got closer to Bruma. This was the best circumstance for murder I'd get: I was outside city walls in the least popular part of Cyrodiil, there was a steep slope to throw the bodies down to my right, and it was nighttime.

But now that we were so close to Bruma I was afraid these circumstances would soon end.

I stopped in my tracks. There was silence. The Shadowscales had stopped too. I turned to them, my mind still turbulent as this went, having no time to analyze the plan I'd formulated in a couple of seconds.

"**You two wait here. I want to check on Applewatch one last time**." I said, then started walking back the way I came.

_Walk a long way back, then sneak up on them._

_No, they'll hear you coming back, turn around and kill them now._

_Kill them now? You don't even have a plan._

Either way, by now it was too late to turn back. I was too far away to execute the plan of simply turning around and killing them. In a way I was relieved that I couldn't make that decision. The word 'decision' seemed to have a whole new connotation for me now. If there was one word to describe my anguish, "decision" was it. I just kept walking.

_Head all the way back to Applewatch, then turn around and start sneaking. _

_What makes you possibly think you could sneak up on them!? You don't have their training, their powers, or their equipment, and even they would have trouble with this type of task!_

The coarseness and weight of life was coming back. Just after I'd acknowledged contentness, there was more tension and stress.

_Shut up! You've already made your decision! Now is your time to plan! Your life depends on it. You'll be killed if you're not careful._

_You'll be killed if you try this at all!_

_Just make your way to Applewatch first, keep your word._

The stress lifted. That was one more decision I could eliminate for now.

I continued towards Applewatch through the chilly night air. I passed familiar rocks and trees. I tried to imagine what the two Shadowscales were doing now, what they were thinking.

I just wanted to prolong this stage of mellowness, because I knew once I got to Applewatch, I'd have to make my hardest decision yet. It may have been the last feeling of relaxation I'd ever get.

I noted every little intricacy of the world as I walked, trying to get the same kind of enjoyment out of it one could get looking at a fine painting, noticing the details. The sparkling stars, the waving pine needles, and the towering mountains.

But as I pushed my mind to appreciate these things, I only got brief feelings of pleasure before my mood sunk to compensate. The odds were against anything good happening in this situation, and pleasure here and now only reminded me that pain would be the next thing ahead.

Applewatch was already coming into view. Soon the turbulence would begin again. I could already feel encroaching discomfort.

My life had become so different it was hard to even recognize anymore. I'd killed my partner in the Shadowscale pact, I'd come to fear my inferiors, and I wasn't even sure if the seemingly invincible organization I'd work with my whole life could even survive the night. I wasn't ready to operate in this new world; I'd had decades to become accustomed to my old world.

When I made it to the gates of Applewatch, I turned around.

The decision I was making hit me with crushing force once again. This is what my life had come to.

The path ahead was shadowed, and its dirt was soft, but there was still so much to be afraid of. I could be plunging myself into something scarier than I ever faced: death.

_But it doesn't need to happen. Let them live. Let go of these aggressive notions. Relax for another day. _

_Relax? You'll live in fear of the Black Hand if those Shadowscales live!_

I didn't know if the turbulence would ever end, so I decided to start sneaking back in their direction. I'd be forced to make my decision soon enough

I recalled the Shadowscales I'd watch Lucien Lachance train. I tried to recall all the times I'd watched **Hides-in-shadows, Stabber, Climbs-out-of-sight, **or **Fights-up-close **creeping along, imitating what Lucien showed them while I sat back and made sure things stayed orderly. They had been trained to do those kind of careful foot falls since they were five years old, and I had watched countless times; Surely I'd learned something from all that time too.

I tried to simply focus on this task, and tried to block out the life-marring circumstances that made it necessity. I continued to creep, attempting the grace of a Shadowscale.

But once I attained some degree of confidence in my stealth abilities, the harshness of my objective came back to me with vengance. I felt a surge of fury at the circumstances that made me want to tare the nearest object to shreds at my misfortune. But I knew the fury was pain _masking _itself as an urge. I could only get satisfaction from destroying the abstract concepts which brought me to this point, and that could never happen.

The tree branches hung over me like demonic fingers. The mountains in the distance were like overbearing monsters. The vast night-sky symbolized my sense of loneliness.

The crickets still chirped, the stars still shined, and branches still waved in the breeze. To them, it was still the same world. To me, those were all components to construct a base for suffering.

_I was so close now...so close to..._

I didn't even want to repeat my objective in my thoughts. _How could I ever have seen the situation I'm in coming? How could I have known __**Goes-in-heavy**__ would defect? How could I have known Lachance would refuse to sanction a contract to kill him? How could I have known I'd end up killing two loyal Shadowscales?_ Another surge of fury came, telling me to quit the graceful sneaking and do something completely irrational. But I held it in.

I continued to sneak. I knew they'd be in view soon.

The pines rustled with another breeze.

Then I could see them again. They were both facing away from me, **Surveys-from-above** with his hands in his pockets. It looked like they were talking, but not fully facing each other.

I side-stepped to get behind a piece of shrubbery, afraid they might turn around and see me.

I put my eyes close to the leaves so I could peer through the tiny spaces between them. The Shadowscales continued to talk, but I couldn't make out the conversation.

I had been stealthy. I was observing someone else's world, just like they did. Now I was ready.

_But now...now is the time for my decision._

I could walk out casually, bring the day to a mellow end, shunning my more radical side. I could return to Argonia and live the rest of my days hoping that the issues with Lucien were simply dead and buried. If I was lucky, I could continue my career fully staffed and carry out my work as usual. If I was unlucky, I would one day find myself robbed of the comforts of the Argonian Royal Court, living as a lonely and pathetic fugitive or prisoner.

Or I could creep up, get close, and then rip through the calm and quiet of the night. If I was lucky, in several seconds I could snuff out the last traces of the crisis. I could return to the Argonia washed clean and fresh, living in certainty. If I was unlucky, the night would end with the feeling of cold metal puncturing and slicing my organs: I would be killed by those I'd raised, who I was once sure I had in the palm of my hand.

Both options brought me fear. But in that moment, the right choice seemed clear.

I stood up and began walking upright, subtly angling my direction towards the center of the path to eliminate any ounce of suspicion I might cause by being so close to the bushy sides of the road. I tried to find a place to rest my gaze, trying to gauge how best to look casual.

I was nearly at the middle of the path when they turned around. I tried to keep my movements fluent as I stared into the vast starry sky ahead. Little did they know, I'd just rejected a decision that could have meant their bloodshed; I was still shaken by the power of that moment, and I hoped it wasn't showing.

I didn't say a word, I just walked in their direction, towards the Bruma entrance, not looking either of them in the eyes while my mind still simmered from the crucible of the last moment in the anti-climactic quiet of the night.

I came closer, pretending they didn't have my attention even when they were the main substance of my thoughts. I pretended to be admiring the starry night sky as I waded through murky thoughts about them and walked mechanically down the path.

Then I was passed them, and they took the queue to follow me. I was glad they could no longer see my eyes. I didn't know how awkward I would appear after just I'd just had thoughts of murdering them on my mind and thoughts of the danger they posed and how frustratingly stupid my decision to come to Cyrodiil was still rattling around.

The path I'd rejected still nagged me slightly, but I knew it wouldn't have been worth the risk. Still, it reminded me of the infuriating constraints of the situation that barred me from the old certainty and confidence I had before "Scar-tail" had defected and set off this horrifying chain reaction; I still anguished over the question of where I'd gone wrong with his conditioning.

Then I realized getting so wrapped up in the soul-stirring issues with Lachance, **Goes-in-heavy**, and **Fights-up-close **had almost made me forget the situation back home: even with these issues gone, there was still stress to be had! I filled with tension at the thought of explaining this all, however much I'd be honest about, to my replacement back in the Gideon sanctuary. No doubt he hadn't expected me to be gone so long, and even now I felt like I was having trouble wrapping my head around all that had happened, all they knew, and all I'd said before I left.

_What will I tell him? Well...? Okay, let me start with what really happened: **Goes-in-heavy** deserted us and I_..._I_...Frustration shot through me._ What was it again? What was the answer I was looking for?_

I tried to push my mind to get back on track, but it was like my thoughts were dissolving faster than they were being found. I vigorously searched my recent memory, but to no avail.

It was as if the power of the situation had overloaded my brain. Yet, I tried to think more.

_Okay, first I let **Goes-in-heavy** journey to Leyawiin under the code name "Scar-tail" before I let **Fights-up-close** out of my sight on a similar assignment, but **Goes-in-heavy** didn't come back and **Fights-up-close **said she didn't see him there. So eventually...eventually we sent the search party...eventually...we sent a search party to look for him. Everyone knows this, and everyone knows they didn't report back...so what did that mean? That meant...that meant I wanted to find a new way to deal with this rogue agent...I didn't want to send Shadowscales so I tried to employ some Dark Brothers or Sisters...I tried to employ them by contacting Lachance...then what? I asked Lachance to...send his own people...then what?_

I was absolutely determined to find the answers here and now, but I could only feel my mind getting more sluggish.

_I requested Lachance's help and...he declined, so I told **Swims-Deep** to take my position in Gideon while I went to Cyrodiil to make sure the situation with **Goes-in-heavy **didn't get out of hand. But...where's the concern? Where was I going with this?_

I wanted to scream at the frustrating elusiveness of my own understanding of the situation.

_I left Gideon and arrived in Cyrodiil. Okay, that's true, but then what's so important to remember...? What is the answer I'm looking for? Why do I need to know this?_

Now I felt like my whole concept of logic was dissolving. My mind was sore and useless. It seemed like wrapping my thoughts around the complexity of the mess I'd made was too much, at least at the moment. Yet I needed to think of how to explain these events in only a couple of days or so, and knowing that need was causing me this mental anguish.

I could feel the problem, but couldn't put it into words, and the more I thought about it, the less I seemed to understand what I was searching for, and the more frustrated I felt.

Yet I felt insistent on defeating this uncertainty

_So what exactly do I need to explain? What...what am I concerned about?_

And the longer I tried to dig into the issue the harder it felt to tare myself away.

_Aha! I need to explain the things **Swims-Deep** didn't...gah! What was it? What was my concern?_

My thoughts were getting slower, less coherent, and more staggered. I could barely squeeze a spec of logic out of myself before my thoughts went haywire and I forgot any mental progress I made.

_I'm getting nowhere! Shouldn't I give my brain a rest?_

But frustration grew in me once again as I felt I couldn't even answer that question. I was thinking...wrong, somehow. But how?

_Stop this! Tare yourself from these thoughts! You're just making your mind worse and worse by doing this._

Yes, that was my liberating epiphany. I needed to apply it before I hurt myself more in this storm of self-imposed stress.

I tried to sooth my mind in mental silence. I let the world just be my senses. Pine trees, chilly night air, towering mountains.

The gravity of the thoughts slowly waned, but there was still that splinter in my mind, like there was some concern I was over-looking, something I couldn't put into words and even as the tension slowly faded my previous contentness wasn't there to take its place. Even when I wasn't dissecting it, my uncertain future in the Argonian Royal Court cast a shadow over everything else.

Then I got to thinking about the situation in the Applewatch farmhouse, another uncertainty. What if **Fights-up-close** wasn't successful at eliminating the traitor? What if the traitor really did destroy the Brotherhood?

Yet, after anguishing so much over the idea of the Shadowscales learning what I did to Lachance, the thought of the Dark Brotherhood being snuffed out brought me a brief spurt of euphoria; if that happened, I would be free of all the stress of figuring out how to cover up my deeds. For a second, I thought that was a definite source of hope.

But then I remembered, I still had almost four years of Shadowscale duty left before I could retire. It was devastating to think of losing my future, care-free life in the Helstrom Palace less than four years before retirement because I couldn't perform the last few years of my duty without the Dark Brotherhood.

But, all the same, I had no way of guessing how the destruction of the Brotherhood would effect my career, other than that it would surely bring about a colossal change in our organization. And even that I was not sure how I felt about.

I tried to shake off the thoughts. I currently had no control over the Brotherhood's fate, no way to predict it, and was in no condition to think about it.

I'd have a lot of thinking to do in the morning, but right now my mind needed rest.


	4. Dents in the Underworld

A/N: Yes, northern Elsweyr is a desert according to the lore.

"Let us not forget our purpose. We are fighting for our families, the Khajiiti driven from the rich, fertile shores of Lake Makapi and the River Malapi, where they and their ancestors lived since time immemorial. It is our battle, but their tragedy. We must show them, lest they are swayed by other rhetoric, that we are fighting for them.

The Mane, The Emperor, and The Count can give speeches, pass laws, and, living life in the open, explain their positions and philosophies to their people to stave off the inevitable revolution. Extralegal entities, such as the Renrijra Krin, must make our actions count for our words. This means more than fighting the good fight, and having a laugh at our befuddled adversaries. It means engaging and seducing the people. Ours is not a military war, it is a political war. If the people rise up against our oppressors, they will retreat, and we will win.

Give to these people, whenever possible, gold, moonsugar, and our strong arms, and though they hide, their hearts will be with us."

-Ahzirr Trajijazaeri

Sun's Height 26

(Densius Fidelis): Imperial Legion Encampment, Outside of Dune, Elsweyr

* * *

"Exactly! So if we just brought...you know, like a third of the soldiers we had in Hammerfell and Valenwood here, to Elsweyr, we'd have all three problems solved! We could easily keep the city of Dune under control with numbers like that!" Cicero said, his face lighting up in seeing our deep agreement. Typical post-breakfast discussions like this one, where we talked about how we could solve Tamriel's greatest problems even when we knew no one in power could hear us, always reinforced my feeling of comradery. 

Then I heard the low jingle of chainmail approaching behind me. "Save the talk for the walk, you two!" Sergeant Hayn cut in "Hienrich and Hermanus are finally ready!"

Without saying another word to Cicero, because we'd already well established our agreement, I pushed myself up from the floor of the tent, a tough push with eighty pounds of armor. Cicero followed suite, and Hayn led the way out into the light of late morning.

The flaps of the tent caressed my armor as I stepped out, and I found my eyes briefly over-powered by the sun through the clear sky. I quickly closed them, seeing a dark crimson instead of black. I kept them closed for a few seconds, with the sun still imprinted in my view in odd, bright colors as the sun's heat coated my head and hands. Usually we exited the tent earlier in the morning, when the sun was settled on the horizon, but this morning we were trying to throw off the enemy.

Then I opened my eyes again, and this time I was looking down at the rippling desert stands. I then lifted my gaze past the many sweeping dunes to the city, the volatile epicenter of our efforts. It was the scoreboard in this conflict, and so far had been showing grim signs, especially recently.

Fortunately, we were about to take some offensive action. We'd been gathering intelligence for about a week, and now we were finally ready for the bust. Using tips from the locals, we'd been tracking a skooma shipment we expected to be linked to the Renrijra Krin. There were all sorts of rumors attached to it, like that this was some special, expensive skooma laced with some substance from Black Marsh, that the sales were already somehow advertised to the local population, and that someone in the South who called himself "the Gold Cat" was somehow involved. I knew there had been rumors about drugs coming out of Black Marsh for quite some time, albeit this was the first time I'd heard it connected to the problems here in Elsweyr. Similarly, the name "Gold Cat" sounded familiar, but then again, the khajiit had an odd tendency to proudly refer to themselves like the animals they resembled. Regardless, this would only take one shipment out of the hands of the enemy; we couldn't do much more than that with our numbers and resources.

I began reflecting on the conversation Cicero and I had about moving more troops here. The Elder Council hadn't moved the Legionaries at all since the end of the Oblivion Crisis. It was a shame to watch the situation here crumble while even Cicero and I could see an easy way to stop it after a casual conversation. I vaguely remembered hearing ancient law prevented the Elder Council from activities like large-scale troop movements, that was up to an Emperor, but even if that was true these situation made me question how seriously we should take tradition. Cyrodiil, and perhaps other places, had always gripped so tightly to ancient laws in politics, but it seemed to crush so much potential to govern.

It didn't matter what I thought now, though, as the decisions made in the White Gold Tower were out of my hands, so I tried to just focus on abating the problems the current set up was causing.

As we clanked over the sand dunes, Cicero tried to begin another conversation.

"So...did you hear? Kvinchal lost his temper with some of the locals yesterday. They're sending him back to Cyrodiil."

I could feel my mood drop. This wasn't the first time I'd heard about the Legionary stepping over the line with some impertinent Khajiit.

"Really? What did he do?" I inquired. These kinds of incidents had been the subject of quite a bit of worry for me after the first two times it happened, which were in rapid succession of eachother. It was the fact they could happen out of the blue, from the will of one soldier, and set trust back miles that made them so nerve wracking.

"I don't know the details, but he apparently beat one of them, nearly to death." Cicero replied. It wasn't like this way before the Oblivion Crisis, but it seemed that, as the city of Dune got more barbaric, so did the people protecting it. Kvinchal was in another squad, so I'd rarely talked to him, but his squad slept in the tent to the right of ours.

A gravely "Whoa..." into the distant expanse of space and time is all I uttered. But I remembered that not long ago, his group had been ambushed in Dune's market district. Wondering if there was a connection I asked "Where'd it happen? Do you know?"

"Must have been somewhere in the city, because that's where they were patrolling all yesterday, but other than that I'm not sure."

It was sad, especially after the touching comradery the Legion and the citizens of Dune had during the Oblivion Crisis. These events sullied the mood, but after seeing the some many of the locals selling out their province to thugs and murderers, just to get back at the Mane in a very indirect way for his decision regarding the trans-Niben, it was hard to _hate_ Kvinchal for it. These psychologically unfit soldiers like Kvinchal seemed like just another obstacle we'd have to deal with to keep our fragile hold on this moving situation. For both peoples' sake, I wanted to beg the Khajiit to be tolerant and keep perspective so we could finish dealing with the criminals in this province. I didn't really care what Elsweyr did to us afterwards, because the situation in Elsweyr right now was an outright scary manifestation of post-Oblivion Crisis chaos.

Then I heard a voice behind us, Private Zaheen, "You hear what those S'wits in Summerset Isle are doing?" He said. Zaheen was a Cyrodiil-born Argonian, but when you weren't looking at him, you realized just how much like one of us he sounded.

"The daedra worshipping?" I replied, voice drab, as that was just one of many problems with post-Oblivion-Crisis Tamriel.

"No: I was talking about their wizards over there boycotting us." He replied, 'us' referring to the Cyrodiils: I liked that.

"Yeah, I heard." I said, then, with a hint of bitter laughter. "They probably love having problems with those pirates: gives them something to blame us for." The islanders claimed we were being boycotted because we weren't protecting them from Abacean pirates, yet we all knew how much they'd whine when our navy got too close to Summerset Isle. Obviously, they had just been watching and waiting until the Oblivion Crisis was over to back stab us with childish gestures of defiance, probably nostalgic to have the old Elven empire back. Still, it wasn't worth much attention. The people of Summerset Isle were far too timid when it came down to blood and steel to ever do anything truly threatening.

I noticed Zaheen hadn't responded, creating an awkward silence that made me reflect on my own words at hyper speeds, looking for something that could have caused it. Then Cicero spoke up. "I'd think a boycott's got to hurt them somewhat, too." Then he added, "I wonder how long they're going to keep it up."

"If it's going to hurt them, not long. They're just out for attention." I sneered.

"That's what everyone wants now." Zaheen bitterly concurred. _True_, so true that I couldn't think of a response; _maybe that's what causes the awkward silences here_, I thought, then decided to indicate my agreement.

"True."

I was beginning to make out the details of the city of Dune ahead. We patrolled the city to deter all kinds of threats, but they did most of their damage in the night. We didn't have the resources to mount an effective night patrol, especially when the physiology of most khajiiti breeds endowed them with a natural knack for seeing in the dark.

I tensed as we got closer to the city, wondering how much we'd failed to prevent over-night, and if wondering we were to come upon more jaw-dropping news of mass-murder or mass-theivery that seemed to be so prevalent here recently.

(**Learns-fast**): Gideon Sanctuary, Black Marsh

* * *

I stared down at the paper work again with dull anguish. I'd only managed to manifest a spec of productivity with the time I was given. Most of my time I was either worrying about the two Shadowscales or staring blankly at the paper, trying to remember what I planned to do after I'd gotten lost in thought about the stakes of my future, and every time I thought of those who brought me to this point, I felt frustration resurface. I knew I wanted to be left alone with these thoughts, yet I didn't know if any good could come of all this worrying. 

I tried to remember where I'd left off as I stared at the desk full of papers with a pen in my hand. My assignment from Helstrom had something to do with taking the trans-Niben's attention off of Black Marsh and putting it back on Elsweyr, appearantly one of higher ups had also read the Black Horse Courier report on Draconis' assassination, but I couldn't remember the specifics of the assignment at the moment, and recalling how my fury at Lachance for ordering that assassination had made me incriminate him and get me into this perdicament caused me to fall back into the quagmire of my worries.

Then I could hear footsteps in the hall. Maybe that meant **Cleaver **had arrived with the Black Horse Courier I'd asked for. It was standard proceedure for the Argonian Royal Court to keep updated on Imperial news, and I wasn't willing to further strain my mind by thinking of more risky and sophisticated assignments for my agents today.

The door to my office opened and, as I expected, it was Tienaava. He was indeed holding a copy of the most recent Black Horse Courier, his head slightly bowed, but with his lower body moving somewhat briskly towards the desk.

**Cleaver** slid the Black Horse Courier copy onto the desk without saying a word or lifting his head, then turned to walk out.

I could sense his last few weeks in the Dark Brotherhood were still weighing heavily on him, but he was no doubt sorting out his thoughts just for his own sentimental comfort. For me, on the other hand, the last few weeks put my protection under the Argonian Royal Court at stake. I had a real reason to dwell on those weeks.

The door creaked shut when he exited. I looked down at the Courier intending to read it, but, despite all the pain my internal turmoil had caused me, I couldn't feel any eagerness to tare myself away from my worrisome predictions and plotting. Everything else seemed kind of withdrawn now. Still, I decided to read it; I went through it slowly, though, and as I read I mentally reinforcing the meaning of every word on the paper to compensate the elusiveness of concentration.

_SPECIAL EDITION!  
MYSTERIOUS OCCURRENCE IN BRAVIL!  
Experts Bewildered!_

_During recent years, life in Bravil has retained relative normalcy. Virtually unbothered by the Oblivion Crisis and political turmoil afterwards, the town of Bravil has remained largely stable. But on the 22nd of Sun's Height residents awoke on an otherwise normal morning to find their town had been subjected to an extremely unusual occurrence._

_Upon arrival at Bravil's most famous site, "The Lucky Old Lady" statue, where many residents travel for daily blessings, they found the statue had been " grotesquely contorted and deformed" (as one local resident put it). An opened hatch way at the foot of the statue, leading down into a one-person cyrpt, was also revealed that morning; all residents questioned reported never seeing this hatchway before._

_Inside the crypt, five bodies, all dressed in black robes normally associated with the infamous Dark Brotherhood, were found and removed by the Bravil Guard. The identity of one body "seemed extremely disturbing" Bravil Guard Captain Viera Lerus said. She declined to comment further, saying they should "await confirmation of these suspicions before releasing anymore information."_

_Local Mages' Guild Chapter Head, Kud-Ei, said she has taken particular interest in the paranormal occurrence. Magic is suspected to be involved in the incident, and the Chapter Head has already planned to investigate "the cause, and its implication to the study of magicka." She notes that any magic capable of warping the statue to such an extent over night would be "extremely powerful, yet precise, by any standards."_

_This mysterious phenomenon raises many questions for people not only in Bravil but all over Tamriel: But one thing is for certain, the town of Bravil will never look at their Lucky Old Lady statue the same._

Five people in black robes found dead under mysterious circumstances a day after I'd tossed **Fights-up-close **into Applewatch? That sounded suspiciously like the Black Hand. I could feel the world shift.

I couldn't imagine what they were doing in Bravil, but finding _them_ in a place so bizarre seemed relatively logical given the nature of their other hide-outs. Did the traitor finish his job and wipe out the Black Hand? He still would have had the element of surprise, after all; **Fights-up-close** knew of the traitor, but not his identity.

I could feel happiness, pure and clean, settle on the situation as I saw the cause of my worry may have been snuffed out. I was free now, free from the burden of protecting myself from the potential fury of my superiours. I could breath a sigh of relief. Instead of spending all day trying to find a way to cover up what I'd done, I could spend time on sure productivity and enjoyment.

But something was missing. There was some problem I was over-looking that was attached to this outcome. I could feel it.

Then I wondered what this meant for my career, and remembered the problem: I wasn't sure if I could legitimately fufill my last few years of service without the Brotherhood.

I could feel my mood...mellow. Feeling nothing was better than feeling tension, but my previous elation at the news was gone.

Could I, in the Argonian Royal Court's eyes, ever fufill the last few years of service necessary to retire to the palace? After all, the work of a Shadowscale Transfer Branch administrator had always been closely inter-twined with the Dark Brotherhood. Part of my duty was to help manage the Shadowscales' training under the Dark Brotherhood and their transfers to the Cyrodiil sanctuary; without those types of components of my job present, would those remaining years of work still count?

But at least this was out of my control, so I didn't feel obligated to get my tail in a knot about. I was mentally free, now at least.

Then a new question came to my mind:

_If the Black Hand has, indeed, been wiped out, what does that mean for the other sanctuaries?_

I could think about it without sluggishness or anguish since it was a crisp new question:

Surely the Speakers' underlings knew nothing of the issues with Lachance, but would it be at all likely for them to fill the Black Hand's void? _Maybe that would be the ideal outcome, because then I'd have a new Dark Brotherhood to work with. I'd have a clean slate._

But I didn't know if they'd fill that void. They could simply become a useless collection of basement dwellers now that they'd lost their leaders, eventually flushed out into normal society.

I wasn't sure.

I decided to stop thinking on it, though. I didn't know enough details yet. And, oddly, getting it out of my mind was easy to do. Now I was free to reap reality of _some_ pleasantries, at least. These painful last several days had taught me just how good incapability could feel.

(**Fights-up-close**): Bravil

* * *

The aimless walks through the city streets of Bravil were the story of my life over the last few days. After recovering from the stir of the last two months, which felt like they could have lasted a lifetime, it felt like these calm times were part of a life I'd left behind, even they really were a new chapter of my existence. 

Finally doing away with the Dark Brotherhood had done away with the stress-induced paranoia that had gripped me, and that taught me a feeling of well-being was essential to my cognitive abilities. Eventually I'd have to start spending less time sorting out my thoughts and reflection, and more time sorting out the real world, but as the situation got more stressful, I knew I would be peeling back the bandages on my mind. I knew my close calls with insanity would be back if my situation slipped into desperation again. I knew my good epiphanies would be buried.

Reminisce of my darker past still existed, and still worked in the background: the mess I'd left under the statue had caught local attention, Bravil looked and smelled like Gideon, and I knew **Cleaver **and **Learns-fast **were still out there somewhere, though their appearance was so mysterious to me it almost seemed like a fever dream.

But now I was as exposed to the overworld as anyone else. I was no longer killing off family members and murdering people I suspected of being undeserving, debating life-long loyalties I held: already those times seemed harsher in retrospect. I was amazed at how much I'd been hardened during that period of blood-sweat-and-tears and yet how much I'd still been effected, but now I was sobered-up from the powerful emotion. A good thing, especially in a civilian life, I supposed, but with three days gone by and no employment in sight, I had to worry about how long I would be "sober" from strong emotion.

I continued to scan the people and establishments as I walked, looking for an opportunity for employment.

Bravil clearly wasn't a wealthy city by Cyrodiillic standards, as most were clad in the drab, washed-out clothing of the under-class and each building was about half the size of what one would see in Leyawiin, but it had been the sight of a battle that tore up a council even Imperial Law had been unable to exterminate. It was where the Dark Brotherhood finally collapsed on itself. Yet those living didn't know I was involved in any of it; the world thought nothing about going along without me. Several days ago, I was tossing around the fate of a millennium old organization behind the curtain, but in public I was not even so much as a funny curiosity. I was just a trivial piece of scenery in this ramshackle town.

Now I had problems to deal with that seemed almost...pathetic: I had no idea finding a job would prove so difficult. My new beginning was not as rich as I expected. It was nice to only have my own weight on my shoulders now, but I had been down this street of Bravil at least twice before, scanning the bare buildings for any sign of promise in the job market and failing.

Right now, I still had the money to live comfortably, but obviously that wouldn't last long: _twenty isn't a good age to retire at._

After so much time searching, **Learns-fast's **words were ringing in my head with greater and greater frequency: "**Where will you go? What will you do? You can't survive without us, your only life is in our ranks."** and with them came the reminder of their eerie similarity to those of the guard at Dreth's cell, hinting such ideas were plucked from reality, not from my mentor's own plans for deceit. Those words were starting to seem more and more believable: of the two jobs that were available in this city, I was forced to turn down both because of my lack of experience in those fields and lack of finances to support myself while I learned. My youth had been spent training in the art of murder, after all; Ten years of my life had been devoured by wickedness which seemed so righteous at the time, and that left me empty handed once I made my way out of the underworld.

Some dull anger was returning to me as I thought of what my "**superiors**", as I painfully remembered I'd called them, had trapped me in. But with this anger came another spurt of pride for stabbing them in the back, and more importantly, a new feeling of motivation to prove them wrong by finding a career and continuing on my own without them. My mind began to rush with thoughts of how to achieve prosperity. This anger had made me search Bravil so thoroughly yesterday, but now I didn't seem to be at all productive as I repeatedly patrolled these rustic streets. The thought of leaving Bravil had been dancing around in my mind since this morning, and now it was coming back with a new, captivating power; Heading up North to the rich, surreal, fast-paced life of the Imperial City was what I'd been considering. No doubt the Imperial City had far more opportunities to make money.

(Densius Fidelis): Dune, Elsweyr

* * *

As we walked through the baking clay city, I continued to look for even one member of the local law enforcement. Yet as my eyes scanned through the crowds, viewing the diverse breeds and colorful collection of garments of the street goers, I could not see one other friendly uniform. It was a count I anticipated every morning before patrol, and it was dishearteningly showing the Renrijra Krin's campaign of terror was working. Yesterday's count had been a mere two after patrol, and I'd been heavily anticipating this morning, hoping for a higher count to cheer me up. 

The law enforcement here was sympathetic to the Mane, so the rebels would do as they did to any other group sympathetic to the Mane; they'd kill them off and then flaunt their work like some kind of prized painting to scare others off from joining their ranks. It worked, and this created a void of order and security in the city, so the citizens were paying the price.

These days my life seemed revolve around these counts I'd designed to measure the Legion's effectiveness: how many police we saw patrolling the streets, how many crimes were reported, and, more recently, how many dead we stumbled upon in seedy back alleys.

This city was an outlaw's playground now because the Renrijra Krin would slash through anyone's well-being to get at their enemies. To them, the world was only about the Mane and the Count of Leyawiin. Everyone else was expendable. We, the Legion, could slightly abate the abrasion our enemies left behind, but we needed greater numbers to rip the problem from its roots.

We were about to eliminate one more iota of infection from the city at least, and our mere presence was probably doing something to keep criminals at bay...for now, but no doubt they'd wreak malice in the night once again simply because we didn't have the right resources here for an effective night patrol. After all, we were sent here to deal with the threat of the Oblivion Crisis, and we did so effectively, but we weren't selected to deal with its aftermath: the flood of Renrijra Krin vultures.

I wiped some sweat off my hooded forehead and scanned the ramshackle market stands as we continued down the city streets, grim expressions on the faces of the vendors.

Here, the forces of justice and order just barely clawed at the city. It was largely becoming a stone jungle: a competition for survival, with all charitable effort going only to one's immediate family, and each building was like its own fortress. It felt like the people here only exposed themselves to the outside world to bring in what they needed to feed their family. A sad sight. We were going to put a dent in the criminal operations here very soon, but that's all it was, a dent. It was a depressing way to look at things, but I knew we were just shooing a fly with this raid: skooma would be back.

I looked at the nearby buildings as we walked. Brick and clay, washed out colors, and one Khajiit on the ground, doing the distinctive shiver of a Skooma fit. Still, I paid him little attention. It was a sight I was slowly getting used to. Drug use was flooding this place these days. With the way the situation was, it _must _have been ancient law that was preventing the Elder Council from sending more help here.

It wasn't like this in Dune during the Oblivion Crisis, but the daedra's destruction broke the city's supports, and now it was collapsing. Now groups like the Renrijra Krin and other savages were turning this city into their fortress and dotting rural areas with their secret hide-outs. This was at a very visible expense of the local population, whose lives were becoming increasingly coarse. Yet these groups could still must have had some significant following simply because they opposed that "thievery" of the land near lake Makapi, otherwise we'd see them operating with this kind of effectiveness in the Trans-Niben. _Amazing how the khajiit can get so riled up about losing the shores of Lake Makapi but pratically ignore their gains by the Xylo river._ I just hoped that, seeing the destruction they trailed, the Legion and people of Dune would once again share the same firm, beautiful, energizing bond we did when we were united against the daedra.

"There's the house! Move into position!" I snapped back to reality and wondered exactly how much time had just passed since the conversation had died down and I'd drifted into deep thought. Then I shifted my eyes to what was directly ahead of us.

We'd seen the house before. It was double-floored, with most of the top floor opened to the sun.

As we continued forward I saw the squad leader turn and fix his eyes on someone behind us. "Tah'hija," he said, addressing our translator "stay back!"

Gracefully conforming with the discipline and order of our training, we all got into position around the front door. I side stepped to a position directly infront of it, while Cicero and Heinrich, a bit farther from the door to leave room for the lock picker, pushed themselves against the wall, within sword's length of the door. Sergeant Hayn and Hermanus pressed themselves against the wall too, farther from the house's entrance. The last soldier, Zaheen, had already removed a lock-pick from his pouch to pick the lock. Hermanus was already priming his bow.

My eyes and thoughts were glued to the door for every second of the picking, and I knew as soon as his body moved away from it, it would be my turn to do my part in the procedure of this raid. I could feel odd sensations running through my bones and finger-tips as I primed my hands for the hypothermal spell. My breaths got shallow as I knew it would soon be time to work my magic, literally.

Zaheen kicked open the door and rolled away against the wall. I shot the magicka, processed into a frigid projection, through the doorway while the sight through it was still an unanalyzed jumbled of colors and shades.

I watched it fly into the house, only to notice it would not contact any flesh, but rather dissipated onto a shelf. Usually no one was waiting at the entrance during raids, but it was still a good precaution.

Regardless, the squad followed the standard procedure, everyone, with the exception of our archer, pouring through the opened doorway into the small bit of tightly condensed enemy territory. I held my sword infront of me and ran to plunge myself into the mayhem inside. I charged from the vast and sunny streets towards the small pool of chaos inside. The movement generated wind cooled my sweaty hair as I heard the grunts, thuds, high-pitched shatters, and swooshes in the house.

I arrived only in time to see the final bandit fall. It had all happen in the storm of a few seconds. A circular table was tipped on its side, with several bottles shattered into tens of pieces on the stone floor, leaving a pool of some kind of liquid. On the floor were three dead khajiit, only one of which, the more human looking one, had a sword. The rest just had protracted claws, a feral but, as I'd learned, effective and frightening way of fighting. Those were three lives of crime ended in a matter of a few seconds. _The power of the Legion._

"Zaheen, Fidelis, upstairs! You two, with me!" Hayn shouted. Working with an attention, efficiency, and grace, we headed towards the stairs instantly, my drawn iron-shortsword infront of me, carrying an aura of power and security with it.

We began climbing the steps, already wondering what might lie hidden above; this time there was a bit more weight on my abilities. A slight ache built up in my legs as I ascended the steep steps in my heavy armor, clanking and jingling with each step. All the noise sounded annoyingly obtrusive when I knew the enemy could be listening through a wall, although I'd also be wearing a helmet and gauntlets if I weren't a battle-mage. The door was on the right, so I'd be the one closer to danger. Still, if they were unarmored, as the ones downstairs were, I knew the sword, even if the standard issue sword for battle-mages was relatively crappy, would be an sufficient buffer between myself and danger.

The door clearly wasn't locked, as it was actually slightly opened, but only enough to let a line of color through the crack. I knew what this meant. Zaheen probably did too.

Feeling particularly self-conscious of my exposed neck, I bent my foot up from the ground and then shot it towards the door in a kick. I went numb briefly as I anticipated what was on the other side. In a blur, the handle and the other side hit the wall of the room with a sharp crack. I saw nothing hostile immediately, only a bed and wooden nightstand, but we charged in anticipating a quick fight.

As more came into view I could see the bandit at the opposite side of the room, but he was cowering and yelling something frantically in his native tongue, his human-esque hands spread as if to put a symbolic barrier between us. _Surrendering. _

I barely managed to control my own inertia enough to stop myself from crashing into him.

I regained my composure but kept my sword infront of me in a gesture of power as I stared the rebel in the eyes. He continued to babble frantically, reasonably still intimidated. Obviously I'd spare him, but keeping my sword stagnant when I was so ready to swing seemed...uncomfortable.

Situations like this, getting the hands bound of a surrendering person whose language you didn't speak, always required a bit of art on the soldier's part. As he continued to put his hands, palms outwards, in front of me, I sharply grabbed his furry upper arms. He froze, and looked up me in with wide, glistening eyes. My hands were still shaking from the adrenaline.

Zaheen knew what was going on, as I could hear him shuffling through his pouch to get out the rope to constrict our new prisoner with. I heard him step closer. Such a tame task felt odd in my combat-ready lucidity. As Zaheen tied the prisoner's hands, I listened for action downstairs, but could hear nothing more than footsteps. Adrenaline was still bubbling in me, but it seemed our work here was done and my hands were slowly steadying.

With the knot finished, the prisoner gradually stood up, understanding the fragile encasing of our temperaments with combat barely avoided. Slowly I was seeping back into a normal psyce, but we both knew my combative impulses were still lingering beneath the surface.

I released my hands from the prisoner and glanced around the room. I saw nothing of interest. It was time to head downstairs. Eventually, we'd be walking our prisoner to the local jail, where the police must have been fortifying themselves. First, though, I wanted to see if the rest of the squad had found that shipment, and find out just how much thugs had been ready to sell.


	5. A Knife in the Back

"The khajiit attribute their improbable biology to the workings of the ja-Kha'jay (the 'Moonstrings,' or 'Lunar Lattice'), a magical and semi-divine phenomena believed to derive from the influence of Tamriel's twin moons, Masser and Secunda. According to the native tradition, a khajiit born while Masser is full and Secunda a thin crescent will grow to be a cathay-raht, one of the aforementioned jaguar-men, while one born under the opposite conditions will be little more than an intelligent house-cat. Even the Senche-tiger, the largest great cat in existence, has proven to be just another form of the khajiit; these massive beasts can often be found serving as steeds for their more humanoid cousins. Over twenty forms have been documented among the catmen of Elsweyr," - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Frost Fall 4, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): The Feed Bag, Imperial City

* * *

I decided to start eating the less crunchy part of my meal as the conversation next to me was starting to sound interesting. 

"And they really think their leader is some sort of messiah, sent by the Gods. They really believe he heard the voice of Pelinal Whitestrake and really think he... rekilled Umaril. I mean...so few people even understand how they think!" He said with a glazing of anguish "It is _not _about chivalry, its about power."

"Oh, no!" The other man quickly amended "I agree its not about chivalry. But do you feel like there are enough Legionaries around to police the paths?" He asked, somewhere between playing the devil's advocate and seriously challenging the other man.

"Well, no, but is this really any better? Should we really let the Empire's enemies be patrolling our villages? Should we just make no effort to keep them in check? And they're growing, too. Just in two months ago they were tiny!" His voice energized with the outrage of the circumstances.

"I wouldn't call them the Empire's _enemies_. I mean, every ruler has, you know, a set of rules they want people to live by, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're going to try to take over another government, even if it's just out of fear. I mean, we haven't heard about them breaking any laws, they've just helping the Imperial Legion enforce them, even if they don't really admit it. Plus they do a lot of charity work." The other one objected.

"But if their 'Lord Crusader" says, you know, fight for me or you're going to need to get out, some of them _will_ fight, because they look up to him so much, and we can't allow that." The other man replied, clearly insistent as being the upper hand in the debate.

"Well, yeah, I mean they could become a threat, but what about people like that Queen of Wayrest!?" Voice now flying through various pitches with importance and emotion of his words. "She's not helping us in anyway, and she's got way more military mite than the Knights of the Nine! I mean, High Rock was barely effected by the Oblivion Crisis! Now _she_ has a scary amount of power."

"Well," the other one said, this time his words a bit less forceful "I'm not saying we shouldn't send some blades over to keep an eye on her, but the— "

I'd lost interest in the conversation. I picked up another one of those...greasy, fried crunchy things on my plate, some Cyrodiillic food I didn't know the name of, and ate it. I had had a sense of uncomfortable fullness for some time now, but for some reason it felt inexplicably hard to not keep eating when there was food infront of me. I popped another in my mouth. As I ate, pondering if I should really clean the platter, I got the feeling something was missing from my mind. There was a void where some unsettling thought has been. Then I remembered:

_You've been living with no income for two months. It won't be long before you're completely broke._

I felt my heart sink as I remembered this problem. The next bite of food brought me less enjoyment as my problems were seeping back into my mind. My hunt for a job over these months had been unsuccessful, and all the money I'd made in my monstrous past was reduced to only several tens of Septims. If I did nothing else except eat dinner and sleep under a roof today, it would have forty septims by tomorrow. It was amazing how much money such essentials could gobble up. But there was something worse linked to the problem of waning septims, something that had been brewing in my mind as my pockets got lighter: _stealing_.

With an encroaching nausea upon remembering my dilemma, I swallowed the final piece of food with a trace amount reluctance. No longer crunching, I was able to hear the outside world again. I heard the door to the market open and two pairs of feet walk out of this establishment. _Is anyone still eating with me?_ I was in the right-most seat, so I turned to my left to see if anyone else was still sitting. It turned out the two men who had been arguing were the ones to leave, making an Imperial woman and I the only remaining customers. Rather than attract attention, I turned my head as far as I could to the right to create the illusion that I had been innocently stretching my neck.

With the crowd thinning, and my meal almost finished, a good opportunity for theft was coming, and that meant I had to make my decisions soon. If I ate slowly and didn't finish before the last customer left I _could_ easily (in a physical sense) steal something from the owner. Unfortunately, I'd need to make my decisions before then, and I hated being forced to make these kinds of decisions on the fly. In times of desperation, right and wrong no longer seemed so obvious.

I took another drink from my mug. I decided to think about what I would hypothetically steal.

I began shifting my eyes to look at all the things I could pick up and take from this place that might have some value to me, though I ached with stress as I did. I shaped and calculated ideas when everyone else's mind was placid.

Behind the bar, I could see a modest pile of coins on one of the counters. No doubt he put his earnings somewhere else at the end of the day, but his recent income was out in the opened.

I took another drink from my mug. _Shouldn't I decide whether I should steal or not first, before I decide what to steal?_

I felt a jolt of frustration at my inability to know even if I was thinking about the right subject. I just hoped the final customer would take her time and leave _after_ I found satisfactory answers to these grueling questions.

Fortunately, one conclusion hit me; _If I'm going to steal, I should just take the coins. That's the only thing that will be useful to me. _Yes, and I tried to pound that conclusion into my mind. _If I'm going to steal, I should just take the coins. If I'm going to steal, I should just take the coins. If I'm going to steal, I should just take the coins._

Then I quickly shifted my thoughts to the more basic dilemma: _Should I steal at all?_

_You need it more than him. In a few days, you'll be a beggar otherwise!_

_Needing it more than someone else was never used to excuse stealing._

_Well that's because this society is so arbitrary. You're letting your comfort among the overworld soften your logic. _

I wanted to groan out loud. I had begun to suspect getting so cousy with mainstream society was corrupting me in some ways. I had been wrong about a lot of things in the custody of the Argonian Royal Court and Dark Brotherhood, but that didn't mean the overworld was right about everything. As I felt more comfortable around these people, I saw I might be giving into some of their hypocritical ideas. My emotions and logic about right and wrong had been dulled. Being in too many shoes might have caused my mind to lose some of its solidity. Maybe I needed my old sense of cynicism of the mainstream to bring back my true intelligence.

Trying to buy more time, I looked in my mug. It was empty.

I could hear the woman to my left push out her chair.

She was walking to the exit, and I knew my decision had to come soon. This might become another arena of logic and willpower, like I'd unfortunately had to deal with so much in the last several months. I saw the money, and I knew I'd just need to release my Shadow energy and sneak several feet to steal it, but I hadn't yet proved to myself that I should.

The host turned his back towards me to sort out something in the kitchen as the lady exited.

_Optimal condition. _I decided to push the Shadow energy to the surface.

I had already began to plunge myself into theft. I got up silently, curling my tail close to my right leg to minimize my profile. I could still feel the idea of abstaining nag at me, though right now it seemed like a painfully awkward flow to break, to suddenly reappear and have to explain everything. _Yes, it will be awkward, but that doesn't mean you refuse to do so!_

I wasn't at the counter yet, in any case, so I knew I still had time to decide...and endure this inner struggle. Free-will felt so real now, and I hated it that way.

_You need it more than him. _

His back was still turned. He was cleaning something behind the counter. I continued forward almost mechanically, stealth once again a fluent and natural process after a couple of seconds of recalibration. I knew, if there were to do something courageous here, it would be to stop sneaking. I still felt a mood-marring uncertainty. _You've never stolen from anyone innocent before, how could you start on impulse like this? _

_But why not start right now? Is there a set amount of time you had to spend thinking this over? _

My heart was pounding, questioning it all, but getting nowhere. None of my thoughts felt solid or satisfying. It all felt bitter and frustrating as my internal debating carried undertones of courage, cowardice, logic, freewill, and mindlessness. I was now behind the counter. I was one step away from being within arms reach of the money.

I took that next step, despite the inner conflict left unresolved beneath the surface.

_You can't steal when you haven't even justified yourself! _

_Nor can you pass up this opportunity when you haven't thought of a good reason not to!_

I slowly raised myself, still invisible and inaudible thanks to my ten years of stealth training, but I still felt an uncertainty that was vaguely sickening. I slowly and gently brought an invisible hand over the coins and gently dragged them towards my other hand, which was facing palm upwards to catch them.

I made the decision to push the coins into my palm, and I felt all sorts of bizarre sensations hit me as I plunged myself into a conclusion of my decision. Warm and cold, smooth and prickly, numb and stimulated. My mind had been knocked hard as my decision began to scratch its mark into reality, even if it was a minor mark.

I could hear the subtlest grinding of metal as I dragged the coins, but it didn't seem to catch the attention of the host. Able to see straight through my hand, I made sure not one coin fell on top of another. They hit my hand silently, and they too became bathed in Shadow energy, making them also invisible.

I crouched back down. Images of what would happen if I were to stop now still went through my mind as I wondered if I was truly shunning virtue here, yet I went with the flow of the moment, with only the thoughts from before going through my head and no real conclusions.

I continued to move my body mechanically. In my _mind_, the two sides were still stalemating eachother as I wondered if I was bypassing morality. I dearly hoped I wouldn't conclude I was, but I couldn't be willfully blind.

There was a glaze of...mediocrity over my mood as I moved towards the door.

Then I came to the door.

To make the Shadow energy dissipate I whipped my hand in the air and then instantly opened the door and walked out into the streets of the mighty Imperial City, unwinding my tail. I continued moving mechanically forward to get some distance from The Feed Bag.

But even as I gained distance, my previous deeds still seemed to cast a bitterness over the day. I'd _murdered_ people before, yet it was under the belief that it was, in one way or another, justified. This was different...it was done in uncertainty, and it happened when I'd been beginning to feel a light-hearted comradery with the rest of the world for the first time, able to concur with their opposition to the Dark Brotherhood.

I looked down at the coins again. I began to total them in my head: 1...6...7...8...18...19...24...29.

_All that drama for 29 septims..._it was only a bit over a day's worth of money. Right now, I felt even worse than before I'd gotten the money. The decision had left a scar, though now at least I'd get one more day to get on my feet.

As I continued to walk, there was a sick feeling at the fact that I was once again preying on those I felt like I'd recently reached a new level of trust and understanding with. The fear I'd felt before the decision was gone, but, at the moment, so was the enthusiasm for my new life.

But maybe this pain would serve a useful purpose. It would make me absolutely remember to find a way to sustain my own living, to search harder for a career. Still, after months of failure, it seemed it was time to seriously rethink what this "new life" would mean.

(**Learns-fast**): Gideon Sanctuary, Black Marsh

* * *

**_To the administrators of all Shadowscale Branches,_**

_**I have received multiple notices about strange happenings, or lack of happenings, with our Dark Brotherhood allies. Speakers have missed scheduled appearances for training in two of our sanctuaries already, and reports from the Cyrodiillic "**Black Horse Courier**" suggest the entire Black Hand may have been found dead in the city of **Bravil**. Attempts to contact Speakers have led no where, with our agents finding them absent from their usual lairs and the sanctuaries used by their subordinates empty of members. **_

**_Obviously nothing has happened along these lines before in our short history with the Dark Brotherhood. We are very much confused and surprised by this news, but continuing to rely on the Dark Brotherhood could prove fatal for us. For this reason, the Dark Brotherhood will officially be considered deceased. No longer should you expect any further dealings with them. We will have to adapt._**

**_I will be blunt, Marsh Brothers and Sisters; this is not a blessing in disguise. We greatly profited from our alliance with the Dark Brotherhood, and it will be difficult to recover from this blow. There is, however, a silver lining, which I will elaborate on below: _**

**_Your assassins will no longer be given to the Dark Brotherhood when coming of age. You will be able to keep them in your possession until the day of their death or until the Helstrom authority demands otherwise._**

_**Also, no longer restricted by the Dark Brotherhood's training schedules, we are able to explore a new way to enhance our agents in place of the Dark Brotherhood's training. It is not in my place to elaborate on this project, as it is still in its very early stages and should not yet be a concern of yours. We require only a small favor from you to help this project: we request you send all agents who were unable to completed their Dark Brotherhood training to the** **Helstrom** **palace as soon as possible. You will most likely see them again, but in what amount of time we cannot be sure. Either-way, we will keep you updated on their progress, and elaborate on our intentions once it becomes relevant to your work.**_

**_-Hides-in-trees, Director of the Shadowscale Program_**

My face cracked into a smile. The Dark Brotherhood was completely gone, and yet I could still fulfill four more years of duty required to retire to the palace. No longer would I have to worry about those self-infatuated freaks in the Black Hand or worry about all my life's work becoming fruitless with their passing. Now my life seemed like a whimsical swim in the ocean compared to what it had been.

Outside, a hackwing cried, as if some higher power had acknowledged my victory.

I put the letter down, feeling a moment of pure happiness.

Yesterday's fear of losing my position here seemed almost...humorous now. After months of worry the Argonian Royal Court still thought my job was no less important.

I was bubbling with euphoria as I imagined the future that awaited me now that I had gotten away from my mistakes free...better even. I could be sure I would never be thrown out of the protection of the Argonian Royal Court. I could forget all the contingency planning over what would happen if they found out about Lachance's innocence. I'd never have to endure more tedious time arranging transfers and training sessions with the Dark Brotherhood, or find ways of lubricating or grinding out friction between us. And best of all, less than four years from now, I would be living a life of luxury, with no more burdens, every drop of life dedicated to my own enjoyment and self-improvement. Over two months of worrying had come to an end. This was a new era of my life.

Of course, there was still some work to be done, given that I was still in charge of deterring tribal and Imperial threats in the area. In fact, I had just started on the task of ensuring friendly relations between the **Rock-hold** and **Hist-feeders** tribes didn't get any stronger, but I had plenty of time and crisp spirit to carry out that mission. I'd just need to schedule a timely assassination of one of the tribal chiefs. That would be easy.

I had _that_ task ahead of me and, according to the letter, I needed to send all my trainees to Helstrom. That sounded like a simple job as-well, but it was still an odd request now that I reflected on it: never before had they requested me to send any of my subjects to them. Still, that was a sweet liberty: it meant more than a few of the little ones would be taken off my shoulders.

I felt so lucid and invigorated in my turn of fortune. The world around me was secure, solid, and beautiful. In all unlikelihood, I had escaped the torrent of the Dark Brotherhood's problems unscathed, and now I was experiencing feelings I'd nearly forgotten.

I knew it would take some time to get used to this new chapter in my life, but I also knew this would be a greater existence than I'd ever known before.

(Densius Fidelis): Road to Cori Daglade, Elsweyr

* * *

My arms ached as we carried the heavy load. We'd already set the chest down to eat lunch, but even that hadn't soothed my arms much. Still, it felt like a challenge to over-come, not simply a frustrating bit of misfortune. Ahead, I could see the shape of the village: two rows of houses, a layout shaped like a diamond, and then two rows of houses again. 

We were delivering supplies to the village of Cori Daglade; its inhabitants weren't going to travel to the city out of fear of violence. The suffering in this province due to the post-Oblvion-Crisis crime was becoming extraordinary. The situation was still declining, and we could give Elsweyr little more assurance than a squeeze on the hand. This province needed to get _itself_ up. I didn't know if that would happen any time soon, but after seeing all Elsweyr had gone through I could imagine this province would come back fighting those who drove it in to this state of despair once it _did _get up and dust itself off. After all, the drug bust in Dune a couple of months ago had gone so well mostly because the locals had been so cooperative with our investigation, and more and more often, I was hearing of the Renrijra Krin and linked criminal organizations being forced to coerce or bribe their way into getting harbored. Maybe that nostalgia for Elsweyr's attitude during the Oblivion Crisis would soon be answered. This village was a strong reminder of that nostalgia, as we had been to this village during the Oblivion Crisis, trying to contain the daedra. The locals seemed infinitely warm and charitable to us at that time. Back then, the Renrijra Krin was no more than a forgettable name responsible for a handful of murders. Back then drug-dealing and cop-killing weren't the primary driving force behind a province's state.

When we visited this village the first time it wasn't much for farming. I could understand how their suffering could be pretty severe under these circumstances.

As we got closer, I could see the villagers were obviously _trying_ to farm, but it was yielding rather unimpressive results. They really relied on the city.

I could see the locals taking noticed of us. Faces collected outside on the roads, staring at us while we continued to ache with the load of supplies. But soon, we'd finally be free of the burden, and their stomachs would be full, and then we could turn around and go back to camp with a day's work complete. We had a rich goal only several steps infront of us.

The world ahead rippled slightly in the desert heat as more and more khajiit stepped out of their houses to view us. They were juxtaposed with eachother, all of widely (and, in some ways, awkwardly) varying shapes and sizes due to the lunar lattice.

All their eyes were on us: It was like one of my heroic fantasies, making the day of someone who I'd never met, being an ambassador to our Empire and finding unity in a forgien world; one of my less action-packed heroic fantasies, but a fantasy none the less.

The longer I'd been stationed at Elsweyre, the more epic, far reaching, and abstract our goal here seemed. Many back home thought these problems in Elsweyre deserved only petty concern from the Empire, but the more time I spent here, the more this conflict felt like _the_ conflict of the Fourth Era. Sure, that didn't mean a lot in a one year old era, but if we could clean this province up, we would be discouraging so many unpleasant elements of Tamriel: We'd be discouraging scummy tactics used by the Renrijra Krin that gave them advantage over our ethically bound Legion, we'd be proving the validity of Cyrodiil's model for prosperity, and we'd be saving the khajiiti dignity when their race would no longer associated with this lawlessness.

Our interpreter was already yelling something in his native tongue as we were well within auditory range of the villagers. The families began moving closer to the walls of their houses as Tah'hija spoke. Soon we'd finally get to put this giant container down, and that would make my day.

The villagers' gazes continued to move with us, as we were obviously the most distinctive thing they'd seen in days.

When we were finally between two houses, we slowly and carefully set the chest down on the dirt road. It was accompanied by a moment of pure bliss, both for the relief this would give to the locals, and the relief it gave to my left arm.

Our interpreter began speaking to the crowd, gesturing ambiguously as they all watched him intently from both sides of the road. In the distance I could see even those in the back houses of the village walking towards the newly formed crowd.

When the interpreter was done speaking I saw all the villagers file into a line of families quite civilly. But I knew they were eager to get on with this, as many of them had grins cracking through their previously grim faces. That made me smile too.

The interpreter stepped aside and an almost elven looking woman stepped towards the chest, looking down with a genuine but collected expression of happiness. With our physical work done and showing its worth, the situation had stuck a goofy grin to my face.

But I took my eyes from the civilians, as that all seemed to be in check, and instead scanned the walls of the nearby houses. It was mostly to look like I was doing something instead of just grinning like an idiot, but it was also a habit of a Legionary to glance around any territory that didn't belong to the Legion.

Most of houses were single-floored, with only a couple of houses near the well containing second floors. Their windows were opened to the air for the most part, without shutters. I thought I saw flickers of movement through some of them, but I knew not everyone needed to be out in the streets for this occasion. Clothing was hanging out to dry in the unhindered desert sun between the dwellings.

I looked back at the chest of supplies. A significant amount had now been taken, and another family approaching. _Already we've ensured several families won't be going hungry any time soon_, I thought contently. Three and a half hours of carrying that thing really would blossom into quite a bit of good.

I then shifted my eyes towards the ground, not wanting to stare at the civilians for much time. I instead looked at the puffy metal torso and feet of the Legion armor and the sand that made up the village road. It was smothered in all kind of foot-prints, or paw-prints, some of which looked perfectly human, others of which looked completely animal. In Cyrodiil, most khajiiti women decided to get pregnant at a time that would ensure their children were one of the more human-esque breeds. Here, the various breeds were embraced, and I could only imagine the kind of awkward, funny, and vaguely-disturbing scenarios that sort of variety could create in social situations; I had always been too shy to get the details from one of the locals.

I looked back down at the supply chest. I could already see its bottom. Obviously most of the goods had been taken. This mini-adventure was almost over. I wasn't quite sure what would happen when we got back, but at least this trip had been a refreshing change from the usual patrols.

I knew I'd sleep well tonight, though I'd probably be feeling at least one ache in the morning.

I looked back at the opened chest again. Now there were only a few supplies remaining, with no more families coming to take their share. I looked ahead and saw all the families still on the road had their backs turned to us.

"We're heading back to camp, boys. Pick up the chest and let's go. Come on!" I heard our squad leader say. Everyone turned, our positions now reversed. All but Tah'hija, Sergeant Hayn, and our archer put a hand on the chest and lifted it again. With the supplies taken, the load was now delightfully light.

We began clanking forward again, the city of Dune was a blip in the distance across the softly rippled sand dunes. This was the conclusion to the highlight of the week. As the low jingle of chainmail continued, I wondered if a conversation might begin.

Suddenly I heard a harsh zipping sound. Our translator yelped in pain. I whipped my head around ready to expect anything only to realize I couldn't fully turn around without letting go of the chest. But then I heard a noise I was more familiar with, the sound of a body hitting the desert sands. A fear of the unknown washed over me. _Who could possibly be killing us!? _

There was that harsh zipping sound again, going from subtle to loud in half a second before I felt the weight of the chest significantly increase. To my right I saw Cicero fall to the ground, a metal-tipped crossbow through his head. All his humanity had been snuffed out in an instant, that soulful and energetic person had been turned into an indifferent mound of flesh suddenly, instantly, and totally.

I released my grip on the chest and bolted from the immediate area, hearing more zips as I did. I struggled to unsheathe my sword as I frantically looked around the dunes that weren't previously in view, panic starting to envelope me as I desperately tried to identify the sources of fire.

I could see no sign of life in the dunes to my right.

There was an encroaching feeling of light-headed desperation as I was unable to identify the source of the bolts.

To make myself a smaller target I hunched as much as the oppressively constricting armor would warrant, sword protectively out infront of me, and continued to try to identify a source of the shooting as I knew death could come any instant.

I could see no one in the dunes to my left.

I heard another cry of pain, Hermanus, forceful and passionate. I could hear him staggering in what I assumed were his throws of death.

I turned towards the village. This time, I saw two more bolts fly through the windows of those clay houses. That was where this merciless rain of death and destruction was coming from, making a mockery of our well forged equipment and professionalism that we prided ourselves in. It was coming from the village we'd just provided for. There was a horrible sinking feeling in me.

Soon I found myself staring at the tip of an inbound bolt only to violently swerve my head to the side, leaving me with only brief reflection of what it would have done to my head if I'd moved a split second later. My life could have easily ended right there.

"Give us some fetching orders, Hayn!" Zaheen forcibly screamed, with the power and desperation of the situation in his voice. "Orders!"

I could hear another harsh zip and felt the wind of another arrow as it barely missed my neck. I could feel my heart pounding. The village we'd helped was the territory of our enemies. Those people we'd given life were now bringing us death. It was so unexpected I felt like I was being smothered with the ripped fabrics of reality.

"Swordsmen close in!" Hayn yelled back, finally giving us a sense of order in the dizzying chaos of the situation. "Fidelis! You _need _to hold your ground! Keep pressure on their positions in the windows!"

I saw Hayn, Hienrich, and Zaheen charging forward at speeds which, considering the weight of their armor, seemed a testament to the danger-born spirit and physical ability.

Other than me, they were the only three left. The rest of us had been taken by the bolts. _Tah'hija, Cicero, Hermanus_. But I was in combat mode, so I was drained of any sentimental feelings.

I redirected my casting hand at one of the upper floor windows. I sent a frosty projectile through the air. I didn't know if it would kill or just cause the shooter to duck his head down, but I would desperately grasp at any inconvenience to toss at the enemy.

Even though I was armored, I was out in the open with the eyes of all my enemies upon me, all of them armed with metal-tipped bolts; I could feel my naked vulnerability.

The frigid projectile I'd created disappeared into the window I'd been aiming for, but I could not make out what had happened to the shooter. I kept my mind primed for another casting all the while the thought of sudden death was dancing around in the back of my head.

I saw another bolt stick into the sands several infront of me.

I released magicka from my left arm again. The hypothermal ball flew, but seemed so painfully slow when a second could mean the difference between life and death. Meanwhile, bolts continued to come out of the upper-floor windows, each one capable of snatching a life from the Legion in an instant. I released another hypothermal attack while the previous was still in the air, working my mind with ruthless concentration to pound the enemies I could not quite see in the shadows of those houses. The first hypothermal attack passed through the window. I knew it would be closely followed by the second.

I silently prayed not be hit with a bolt, all the while keeping the cognitive processes required for spell-casting fluent. I could feel my fleshy vulnerability beneath my currently useless armor as I directed my arm to a second window just before releasing another hypothermal projectile. I felt nauseatingly fearful out in the opened like this, with at least three shooters still targeting us. It was the principle of loyalty to this Legion, a bump in my philosophical scape, that made me not retreat into the dunes, even as my heart pounded and my hair ran with the cold sweat of fear. The ball of freezing air disappeared into the window.

Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw one more of my buddies fall. I wasn't sure, though, I just tried to keep my mind on the buildings, clinging onto every grueling second before this nightmare would be over. I pushed magicka through my hand once again and shot out another frigid attack. Another bolt narrowly missed my right arm. The frigid air I'd shot out of my arm disappeared through the window. I continued to watch that window for another. It seemed to have fallen silent.

But then I noticed none of the bolts were still being fired in my direction. I shifted my eyes down towards the road, noticing Hayn and Zaheen were close to the houses, all the cross-bow fire now directed at them. Then the two swordsmen disappeared through a doorway.

Now I could only imagined what they were dealing with in there and how they were shifting the battle. I kept my eyes glued to those windows, the dwellings places of thanatos.

But it seemed all the shooting had disappeared, with the cross-bow wielders probably shifting their attention to the Zaheen and Hayn. I stayed in position, heeding every particle in that village for some kind of threat or opportunity, but it was clear the real battle was inside now; Soon I found myself concentrating on nothing more than the dull color of the houses and the morbidly empty desert winds. It was the swordsmen's battle now.

I was alive, I was in one piece, and I was still at the sight of all this peril. But how did this come about?

In all this chaos, when my battle persona had unexpectedly been called upon, I almost forgot why we came here: _to supply the villagers...villagers we'd also helped during the Oblivion Crisis._ Yet it looked like they already struck up a deal with the enemy.

That was how deep anti-Imperial bias had gone.

Already at least four of my squad-mates had died, and I knew that would leave a crater in my life. This moment would have its scars, and in the heat of battle I hadn't even begun to process its true kick.

I was feeling deeply shaken. I continued to watch the village, wondering what was happening in those houses, and wondering if both of my friends would emerge.

But there was a deeper uncertainty in my mind, and now I knew external conflict wouldn't be the hardest part of my service here in Elsweyr.


	6. Lost Optimism

"Whether the terrible Khahaten Flu arose from natural causes, or was created by an Argonian shaman in retaliation for his people's oppression, is still a matter of debate. But its result was clear. The plague began in Stormhold in 2E 560, and quickly spread to every corner of Black Marsh, killing all those not reptilian stock. For over forty years, it held the Province in its grip, decimating entire cultures (notably, the Kothringi) and driving outsiders from the land.

Even when the land became inhabitable again, fear of the disease kept most outsiders away. House Dres of Morrowind continued to send slavers into the north, but few others saw any reason to trouble themselves with the land. Even Tiber Septim, it was said, thought twice before conquering Black Marsh for his new Empire. The borders of the province fell easily to his forces, but he wisely decided to avoid strategically unimportant inner swamps, and thus met with little resistance." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 16, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Luther Broad's Boarding House, Elven Gardens District, Imperial City

* * *

I lied in bed stagnant, but my mind was rushing with the occurrences of the previous days. I must have been in bed for more than an hour and unable to sleep. I just closed my eyes and tried to keep my mind as silent as possible. _If only I was able to recall what the last moments before sleep were like._

I was worried about my future. Tomorrow I'd need to engage in my fourth theft to stay monetarily secure.

Echos of the previous days seemed infused with the world around me, like spirits that haunted the room. Despair and tension were sprinkled on my thoughts about the future.

I rolled over under the covers.

A light sadness settled in as I thought about my current circumstances. I had naively assumed I was off to a rich and exciting new start after disposing of...my past. It was sad to know that I was still preying off of others even after the bubbling hope and elation I'd gained after killing off the Black Hand. Somewhere out there, my killings under the statue must have averted grave injustices, but my own little world felt like it was transformed in just the opposite way. Leading a life so gray, one with only marginal worth and right, was depressing. More frequently I felt these heavy, demoralizing lows that made me doubt I could ever get a better life. I felt lonely and uninspired. My previous family turned out to be the scum of Nirn, and my previous job had a similar moral standing. Now I didn't know how to get started on making a replacement version of either of those things.

I still wondered if the law was on to me in anyway. I'd never been caught thieving, but was I ever suspected? I was used to working outside the law given my short time in the Dark Brotherhood, of course, but in the Dark Brotherhood someone behind a desk was doing the high level planning. This time around, I was the only planner.

I wouldn't give into the law if they tried to chase me down, but I didn't feel the same kind of...charge to not fall into the hands of the law I did back when I'd been living in a world of engineered prejudices and misconceptions. I no longer hated Cyrodiillic law, and I couldn't blame them for arresting me if I was caught on any of this; it almost felt like a game in that regard, but knowing this "game" looked like it would be my future brought me a stab of pain.

In frustration at the seeming inescapability of my problems, I wriggled my head around aimlessly against the pillow in protest of the emotions I was feeling, eyes still closed.

My former mentor's words came back to me, and at once I felt another rush of hatred. It was slowly seeping into me that my entire life had been more exquisitely planned than I originally thought. The Argonian Royal Court's plan to keep me loyal had more fail-safes than simply their deceptions. **Learns-fast** had crafted me to follow an unjust agenda or suffer the way I was now. There was a sick feeling with me as it began to feel like I'd never left my life as an assassin, only screwed it up.

He had told me I couldn't survive without the Dark Brotherhood. **Learns-fast** knew he could no longer morally defend my role there, so he moved to a tactic of fear to keep me with them.

With the reawakening hatred gripping me I felt a new charge enter me. His words seemed so vilely smug now, his face seemed so hideous now, and yet his prophetic words were imprinted in my consciousness, and I felt a duty to keep them that way. It sickened me to see it coming true, and at once I wished I could see him again; not to re-enlist in his ranks, but to make him regret letting me sink so low for my heroics.

I could feel my heart beating fast under the covers.

But I'd been down this road many times before. I'd spend significant chunks of my day lost in this hate, trying to conjure up some way to change this situation. I failed miserably every time, yet was always reluctant to tare myself from these thoughts.

But I knew I would give up eventually this time around, so I repeatedly reminded myself that now was time for rest. Without it, I'd be useless. I didn't open my eyes. I just hoped, with enough physical stagnancy, my mind would eventually follow suite. But my mind still rushed with morbid thoughts, being haunted by my past and future.

(Densius Fidelis): Elven Gardens District, Imperial City

* * *

It was my third night home. We'd been clanking through the streets for a while, which were largely empty of anyone else except some sleeping beggars and our fellows in uniform. It had been raining all evening, which filled the streets with cool mist, a temperature I wasn't used to after all those months in the blistering desert. But clanking through these dim city streets gave me plenty of time to think. 

I knew why they'd sent me back even though they never explicitly said it; it was because they knew that ambush in the village of Cori Daglade had dug deeper than any blade ever could. They figured such an experience bred hatred and paranoia, the two best ways to turn someone into a murderer, and make one stoop to the level of our enemies. They didn't trust my mind was any longer fit for the mission to protect the people of Elsweyr. I didn't know if they were right. For over a decade I'd kept it nailed into my mind to never judge an entire province. Factions and individuals were our enemies, not races or cultures: that was the distinction that put us above most of our enemies. But after that ambush...I just couldn't feel the same hearty enthusiasm to protect Elsweyr. I used to fantasize about getting congratulations from their people, and building bridges between cultures. But when they had seen our kindness so directly...and still nearly slaughtered us all for our good will...those kind of fantasies were hard to hold onto. It was probably the fact that the people of Elsweyr were hurting themselves more than us that kept me from _hating_ them, but that ambush did leave an emotional impact; I was far less emotionally attached to them, though maybe, given that things were deteriorating in Elsweyr, that was for the better.

I remembered it had been a common fantasy of mine, back when I was a student of the Mages Guild and regularly getting into heated arguments about the Empire, to see Cyrodiil withdraw from every foreign post in the Empire and watch the other provinces crumble, making the critics regret their careless words once and for all. Of course, ethical boundaries prevented that and that always brought me a sickening sort of fury; we wriggled under our own ethical boundaries, and it was our ethics that brought us to that village where most of my squad was killed.

For standing my ground in that ambush, I had been given a rare medal, 'The Medal of the Red Dragon', but it was only a depressing reminder of what happened. I now felt the pains of loss. Only our leader had survived, and the people I knew there were people who I felt I could be genuine about everything with. The bonds you formed with people you fought alongside of were simply irreplaceable. Now, with everyone else, social interaction felt tense, artificial, and constricted. Ironically, I felt more withdrawn coming back to my home province than I did during most of my time in Elsweyr.

But, then again, this wasn't exactly the homecoming I was expecting:

Like Elsweyr, our homeland was deteriorating. The law had less and less influence. It wasn't quite a secondary force behind life like in Elsweyr, but the number of highwaymen on our paths seemed to have increased; after only about three days back, my unit had detained two suspicious people on the roads. The number of beggars was probably about double what I remembered it as a year ago. Then, of course, there was the Kvatch situation; the city was getting reconstructed at a tragically slow rate thanks to all the bandits on the Gold Road who we had to keep at bay. Even the Champion of Cyrodiil had apparently gone missing. There was only one glimmer of hope: according to some high level Legionaries, the murder rate had dropped somewhat over the last few months. Still, Cyrodiil seemed to be getting worse in every other way.

Right now we were on our way to apprehend a woman suspected of killing both Leyawiin Guard Captain Draconis and Former Imperial Legion Commander Phillida, yet one arrest didn't mean much to me when the whole world felt like one giant problem. Apparently the government had been trailing her for quite some time, but it got incredibly difficult because witness accounts were vague and she never seemed to settle down. This was a simple arrest, and therefore tamer than most assignments in Elsweyr. Given the mundane nature of the assignment, and the sticky memories of the ambush, I was largely inattentive as we walked through the city streets.

As I looked at the dark city streets, everything looked ugly, but I couldn't imagine what "pretty" was. The world felt so raw and over-bearing as it hosted this suffering in and around me. The clouds drifting through the dark sky reminded me of ghosts haunting Tamriel. I thought of all the other people watching the sky with the same sense of despair at the vast, uncontrollable nature of the world around them. It was a despair no doubt multiplied hundreds of thousands of times over across Tamriel in the current state of the world.

It looked like our leader had stopped infront of a door with a sign above it. I looked up: "Luther Broad's Boarding House" indeed, where our suspect was staying for the night. We suspected she might have also been doing some thievery in the area, too, so we weren't guaranteed to find her in bed, but then we'd just wait in her room.

"Oholin, you're going to be the one watching Mr. Broad. Fidelis, you come with me and we'll make the capture." Our leader, Marcono said.

I nodded softly. He pushed opened the door.

There was only one light still burning, and that was on the left wall, giving the room an eerie orange glow. We could hear a sharp intake of breath followed gruff grunts of the publican as we clanked in. No doubt we'd woken him up, and, like most other publicans, he slept by the bar.

The raid didn't mean much to me. It would just be the same pains with a new coat of paint.

"Mr. Broad," Marcono said amid the rude awakening, "You're housing one Tamriel's most wanted criminals. The Imperial Legion requires the room key to your first guest room."

First we could only hear subtle groans from behind the bar, and some soft creaks on the mattress he used for sleeping. Eventually, though, he was standing up, squinting, looking confused. It reminded me of the one activity I still felt comfortable doing since the ambush: sleeping. The peace of silence and darkness. The publican didn't seem alarmed, probably because he suspected we'd have been returning after our daytime visit, when we asked to see his records of who checked in. Swords at our sides, but our ears alert for any noise that didn't come from someone in view, we gave him time to reorient himself.

"The key, Mr. Broad. We need the key to the first guest room. One of Tamriel's most wanted criminals is sleeping there." Our squad leader repeated.

The publican, still squinting, bent down, out of sight. Then we could hear metal and wood being shuffled around until finally he emerged with a key ring and handed it to the leader.

The publican, probably realizing it was foolish to try to get back to sleep during a Legion raid, rubbed his eyes and then blinked forcibly several times.

But I paid no more attention to him and simply followed Marcono, who had already begun to advanced towards the target room. We were heading up the stone steps. We slowly advanced forward in combat ready positions. This would be the climax of my day, but it felt that way only because it was the last task I had to do before I could return to the barracks and go back to sleep.

The second floor was very dark. I concentrated magicka into my hands to form a light source, tinting the nearby walls in an unnatural looking green.

There was one door to our left, but given that there were multiple bedrooms, we knew this was not a door to one.

The Sergeant pushed it opened and clanked into the hall it revealed.

He waited infront of the first door in the hall, the suspect's room, ready for the final step of our mission. I got into position next to him. I waited for him to kick it opened, the wooden thing taking on a strong significance as I knew it was all that stood between the stony quiet of the present and the violent climax of the night.

In a blur, my fellow Legionary kicked opened the door. The door hit the wall with a loud crack, bouncing back slightly.

We tromped into the room, our swords held ready.

There was no sign of her. The sheets and quilt of her bed were ruffled, but the room was empty.

"She's out thieving." Marcono said, his voice mixed with a sigh of disappointment, "We'll search the room."

The Sergeant immediately began clanking towards a nightstand by the bed, his posture now straight and his sword now at his side. Then he got down on one knee to open it, the situation seeming to parody our mighty Legion armor and weaponry. Other than the sound of his searching, the room seemed tauntingly still. The only light came from my left hand.

I couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right here, but I followed suite, turning towards a cabinet to my left. I undid the latch and it opened with a creak.

The cabinet was empty, and judging by the sound of clanking metal feet behind me, my superior hadn't had better luck.

Yet as his feet clanked, I thought I could hear the subtlest sound coming from some other source behind me. A brief rubbing. There was a trace amount of fear in me. With what was intended to be outwardly surprising abruptness, I turned to face the opposite direction.

And, somewhat to my surprise, the act had served a practical purpose. I saw the woman we were after, an Argonian. She had attempted to sneak past us, but my abruptness had made her jump. Her body seemed to be materializing, as it happened, her...invisibility was dissipating like smoke.

She staggered backwards briefly before attempting to run full force out the door, but I lunged in her direction.

In the next second she was wriggling beneath my armored body, arms pinned, silent except for a few strained noises of effort. Nothing but her head was free, a freedom which she aimlessly put all her energy into.

I could here my leader frantically clanking towards us as I kept her under my oppressive grip, preventing any chance for her to slip away as she nearly did earlier. Then the clanking stopped. I saw the blunt side of a sword slide into view and I reeled my head back. I took that as my signal to get up. She was secured.

I pushed myself from the floor. After a moment of goofy staggering, I recovered my balance and advanced back towards her with my sword held ready.

The suspect was detained. Now we just had to take her to the prison, then we could head back to the barracks. It was another trivial twitch in the dark currents of my world, but at least it marked the end of my day.


	7. Fighting Words

"Anyone considered too dangerous to hold in 'civilized' dungeons in other Provinces was sent to Black Marsh." –Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 17, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Imperial Prison, Imperial City

* * *

It felt odd to be stuck in this murky-smelling cell in the same clothes I'd used to sleep in a quilted bed. It was cold in the cell, and that was the only reason I was still under the coarse brown covers of the stone bed. 

Through the whole night I'd debated with myself whether I should try to sleep or not. Obviously, 'not sleeping' had prevailed, possibly aided by the untimely adrenaline rush from my arrest, fear due to being in the hands of the Legion, and stressful questions such as whether I should try to escape.

The night had been a storm in my mind. I was either having unproductive inner-arguments or listening for every anomaly in the prison's sound scape, noises often translating into absurd false alarms.

I wasn't sure what crime they had me here for. It could have been so many...if it was murder, my life was essentially over. _Should I even fight that?_ I met with another surge of pain at my acknowledgment of just how far my life had sunk. If it was theft, depending on how many and which thefts they actually knew about, it could be as little as two weeks here, according what I'd heard from Antoinette Marie. _Antoinette Marie. _With her came the memories of all the other warm bonds I'd shared with my Dark Brothers and Sisters, bonds I hadn't felt anything close to since. It was painful to think back to the Purification, even if they did deserve it. It brought me sharp pain to remember their hospitality and kindness that was answered by betrayal. It was the same kind of pain I always got when revisiting my dark past, which, as time went on, seemed all the more brutal. I hadn't killed or spoken of death in so long, so with greater magnitude I could feel memories of it shake me. I had to constantly fight off the memories of my past, as they constantly tried to pounce on and smother me.

This cell itself was a reminder of that past: I was in the cell of one of my victims. _Valen Dreth._ He was told he belonged in prison. Maybe I did too.

Then I thought I could hear a wooden door open. I knew there was one up the bend and around the steps. I heard the clanking of Legion armor. I was about to find some answers, but that only brought me tension. I didn't move.

Suspense began building, grabbing me tightly, clinging me to every second. My breaths were shallow as I listened closely, trying to create a mental image of what was happening outside my cell. The Legionary was coming down the steps. He continued through the hall. I couldn't see through the bars with my angle of view, but I could hear my cell door being unlocked. My hands felt icy now, even under the covers. The tension was deeper than before.

I could hear the whines and rattles of the low-grade bar-door opening. I clenched my teeth in the intense sensation of anticipation. What I heard now would be just as fateful as my decision under the statue.

I could see the Legionary stepping in. He had no helmet or gauntlets, however.

My first impulse was to sit up in his presence, which I did, but having lied down for so long, the sudden jolt upwards certainly made me feel something. My vision got coated in an odd green light, I saw speckles flying through the air, and was nearly put back down by the sudden drop in my mental and physical strength. But I stayed up, my power over my body and mind quickly returning.

After finding out the lies of the Argonian Royal Court, I still wasn't sure what to think about the Legion; it was a question that had popped into my mind a few times in the last few months, but I kept pushing it below the surface, figuring it wasn't important. Now it was.

The armored Legionary awkwardly sat down on the coarse chair of wooden planks that came standard with every cell. His armor almost seemed a goofy hindrance for the situation, yet I knew how frustratingly effective that suit of metal was in close-range combat.

His face was stern, straight, and serious. I knew he was about to speak. I knew the weight his words would carry. This next second would mean so much.

"We both know why you're here. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I recognized his tactic right away. The Argonian Royal Court had given me some training in standing up to interrogation in both Cyrodiillic and 'Black Marsh' prisons, the key difference between the two kinds being that they were not allowed to use physical pain as a motivator for information in the former. I was relieved to see the words that would seal my fate delayed.

"Well...?"

I stayed silent in pseudo-pensiveness, really just trying to buy more time to decide how I felt about all that was transpiring. There was nothing to lose from staying silent, eitherway. Eventually he'd obviously move onto new tactics, but the Argonian Royal Court had probably taught me to deal with anything he'd throw at me here.

_the Argonian Royal Court_

It hit me exactly what this session could be good for, an epiphany so quick and forceful I almost gasped outloud.

"I know its on your mind! Save yourself your last bits of dignity and tell me what you have to say for yourself!"

I was not just another street lurking thug. I had information about an entire society to which the Legion was oblivious! I felt a shift in consciousness, as I at once felt much bigger in this situation. If were to confess to everything, telling him my life from the moment I could remember...

The Argonian Royal Court was still out there, abducting and brainwashing hatchlings, stirring up tribal conflict, and assassinating Imperial officials. But this was an opportunity to take them down: secrecy was their greatest ally, and I could cast that all away just by confessing.

"We'll assume the worst if you don't speak up! Cease this opportunity while you can, girl!"

This would have been an invigorating fantasy last night...but now, with the opportunity so close, I didn't feel so gung-ho about it. There was an inner dilemma. When I saw a decision this big before me, only questions rushed through my mind as I hovered over the decision. Free will felt so real again as I stared down the two paths. When revenge was in the palm of my hand, the Argonian Royal Court didn't seem nearly as loathable.

"If you stay silent it just looks like you can't defend yourself...is that true?"

But nothing had changed since I last hated them. They were still the enemy, following an agenda I'd determined was unjust; I'd spent weeks reluctantly building up to that conclusion, checking over my philosophy countless times. I couldn't give one-minute's impulse of reluctance more precedence than all those weeks of deep thought before I decided to betray my superiors. I let my head sag and, with a bit of willpower, I pushed out the words.

"I killed watch Captains and Captain Draconis' family. The Dark Brotherhood ordered me to." I said, the words hurting my throat "I was sent to the Dark Brotherhood by the Argonian Royal Court." The words felt out of shape in my mouth. My head felt it was about to burst with a sort of uncomfortable metallic tingling now that I'd said the words 'Argonian Royal Court' in front of him. I was told never to speak those words to anyone outside the court's or the Dark Brotherhood's ranks, but now I'd begun a new chapter in my life. The interrogator just stared as I continued.

"The Dark Brotherhood and Argonian Royal Court" I continued, this time feeling less impact from the words "aid each other." My voice crackled a bit as I could feel a sharp pain in my throat as my words brought back tear-jerking memories. "I killed off all the members of their ruling council, the Black Hand, under the statue in Bravil, but the Argonian Royal Court..." the words still sounded odd coming from my mouth "the Argonian Royal Court is still operational in Argonia. Like the Dark Brotherhood they work in secret."

I didn't look up as my words rippled through the air. I shook with emotion at all that was happening. I'd just decided the fate of another former ally after only a few minutes of interrogation in a cold, Cyrodiillic cell.

(Densius Fidelis): Imperial Prison Front Entrance

* * *

Onesimus was clanking up the steps holding the paper. He arrived and stretched out his metal hand. "Here," he said, "Tell me what all the fuss is about." 

"Thanks." I replied, pinching the paper while he let go of it. He turned to head back to the city once again as his patrol pattern demanded.

We'd been hearing the about "The Fourth Era Pundit" all around Cyrodiil, but everyone seemed reticent to tell us what it was about. All we knew was that it was a newsletter, like the Black Horse Courier, except one was required to pay for it.

I assumed Onesimus hadn't read it. I looked at it and, given that it was upside down, flipped it over, ready to see what was behind this mysterious name.

_The Fourth Era Pundit_

_" The people of Kvatch must supply themselves through their own efforts. " -Giovanni Civello_

_The people of Kvatch have been ignored and let-down by the promises of the Elder Council since that fateful day during the Oblivion Crisis, when the daedra opened their first gate in Tamriel. Since then, aid provided by the Elder Council to rebuild the city has been abysmal, with all of its former residents still living in a refugee camp half a mile from the ruin that was once the prosperous and beautiful city. The Elder Council, however, continues to send virtually no supplies as the people of County Kvatch already struggle finding food and shelter. Protect and serve the people?_

_One refugee, Lenka Velus, told us in a tear-choked voice "We live here like barbarians! Some of us are forced to hunt now. Only a few can leave and bring back food. We can't rebuild the city, we have no money left to buy back our lives; we're struggling simply to survive!"_

_Another refugee, Kassia Selonette, tells of the many problems the refugees face "Its not just hunger we worry about, its disease. When my son, Palmiro, fell ill it was only by luck that we had , thank Mara, a healer among us to save him. What if (our healer) had not survived the horrors that burnt the city to the ground? Palmiro would surely be dead! So few are willing to help us!"_

_One of the few helping hands comes in shining armor, however. The Knights of the Nine, a glimmer of hope in the dark times, has been delivering what they can carry to the people of Kvatch. _

_The group's leader, identifying himself only as 'Lord Crusader', had this to say to us during a visit with the people of Kvatch:_

_"As a proud and loyal servant of the Nine I knew instantly as I saw the suffering of those who occupy this camp that many wrongs have befallen these people which must be righted. My knights and I shall be the ones to do it! The Elder Council has no claim to land which it does not serve. It cannot harvest what it does not sow. It was the divinely chosen Septim lineage which made Cyrodiil great, and the arrogant and selfish who will lead it to despair. Remember these words, as they may soon mean the difference between life and death."_

_For now, with the help of the Knights of the Nine, these refugees have sustained themselves, yet is there any hope for their future under the Elder Council's rule of Cyrodiil? And why, they must ask themselves, when the Elder Council pours millions of Septims for selfish gains in other provinces, cannot it spare the time and resources to rebuild and rehabilitate the Cyrodiillic city of Kvatch?_

_-Erranil_

The disingenuous article sent a wave of energy through my body like I hadn't known in days. To see its vilely smug deceits, as if the author had the right to warp truth with the flick of a pen, made me become lost in fury. Its brazen deceits were a disorientingly hard slap in the face.

It contained all the traits of a typical pseudo-self-righteous jab at the Empire: dogmas, half-truths, and graphic images to fill a void that logic would normally be placed in. The situation in Kvatch was so much more complicated than that, and obviously the only reason those Knights of the Nine, whoever they were, were able to get supplies there is because the Legion had worked to clear out bandits on the Gold Road. The locals were supposed to be taking advantage of that and getting what they needed from the city to jump start new lives for themselves. It was obvious how Commander Civello's words had been taken out of context. My heart began racing as I thought about the spin I was staring in face, which was consuming the minds of the more naive citizens of Cyrodiil.

I didn't believe for a second that the writers for this paper actually cared for human life, and they probably knew damn well the true nature of the situation, but that didn't stop them from printing out this story to make money and seem like revolutionaries. Where were their articles about the Imperial Legion delivering aid to the village of Cori Daglade only to get shot in the back? _Oh wait, that might give readers a sense of perspective, Gods forbid! _My hands quivered with anger as I held the paper.

"Did you read it?" Casnar asked, who was on the other side of the prison entrance we were guarding.

"Its worthless." I said, my voice cracking slightly with the feeling of violation the article had given me. I stared at the white gold tower ahead. I was already starting to feel sick from what I'd just read. There could be no more an insidious time for spreading this kind of hatred.

The paper was still in my hand. I made the decision to rip it in half. As I tore, I felt blood rush to my head at the expressive defiance that I knew was a little coarse and uncharacteristically brazen for me. None the less, I ripped it all the way through as the words of the article continued to echo in my head, reminding me just how wrong those who opposed the Empire were and making me wish I could have an even more active role in stopping them. _"selfish gains in other provinces"_

I let the two halves swing down to the pavement. I stared back at the white gold tower, all my concentration on keeping my anger at bay, not wanting anything to do with the outside world at that moment. Fortunately Casnar seemed to have taken my word and lost interest.

I retreated into fantasies about releasing all that anger and righting these wrongs in one giant, passionate, visceral, uninhibited battle with the writer of that article. "Erranil" sounded like an Altmeri name. _"selfish gains in other provinces"? Sure, while we're_ _selfishly pouring our blood and resources on the lands of people we don't even know the citizens of Summerset Isle courageously kick back and relax on their island paradise, selflessly watching the world around them simmer. Way to go._

It was the self-infatuated cowards who wrote this stuff, safely nestled behind a desk, I really wished we could fight. With our 'real' enemies, like the anti-abolitionist guerrillas in Morrowind and Renrijra Krin in Elsweyr, there was at least a chance they had some courage in them for confronting us in armed conflict. _"The people of Kvatch have been ignored."_ Liars like Erranil, on the other hand, were the scum of Nirn deceiving people about important matters for profit. Nothing made me proud to oppose their side like hearing their utter failure to defend themselves. Now I felt restless.

_"the Elder Council has no claim to land which it does not serve. It cannot harvest what it does not sow. It was the divinely chosen Septim lineage which made Cyrodiil great, and the arrogant and selfish who will lead it to despair. Remember these words, as they may soon mean the difference between life and death." _Those sounded like fighting words and, right after reading this article, getting to fight those 'knights' felt like the next best thing to fighting the author.

I jumped slightly as I heard the door to the prison entrance open behind us, having been stuck wondering through the thick of my angry thoughts. Was the interrogation over already? I saw the interrogator walk past us. How much time had passed?

The interrogator then turned to face the two of us and asked in a hushed sort of voice, brow sternly pushed down, "Have either of you heard of something called the 'Argonian Royal Court'?"

_Odd question. What the heck happened in there? _But his tone showed it was definitely not a question spawned of innocent curiosity.

Even 'Argonian' and 'Royal' sounded very odd together. Casnar and I were both silent, so I decided to just shake my head. The interrogation specialist let out a sigh then said, half to himself "Maybe that prisoner was just mad." then added, now clearly to us "You two maintain your posts. I've got some questions to ask the higher-ups in the Imperial Palace."


	8. Dawning Significance

A/N: Though I didn't find any quotes in the Imperial Library about it, I was told on the Lorum that daedra worship is legal in the Empire.

"Geographically, Elsweyr is a harsh area of badlands and dry plains. Only near the southern reaches does the soil turn fertile, and the whole of this region is covered in jungle and rainforests, with sugarcane groves clustering against the two main river basins."- Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Frost Fall 20, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): The Gold Road, Cyrodiil

* * *

The red wood pines stood tall and proud watching over the path, unaffected by the fall. Through the pines the sunlight cast sophisticated patterns of shadow on the daylight coating the ground. It still seemed a bit odd after being in the deserts of Elsweyr for so long. In Cyrodiil, everything through the paths was seen through a thick of trees and shrubbery, not like the clear views in Elsweyr. There was plant life covering nearly every inch around the path, and chirps of various birds could constantly be heard. My time in Elsweyr had been like a whole different life. Here I was quiet and lifeless and nature was noisy and lively, the opposite of Elsweyr. 

Yet as we made our way around a subtle curve in the path, I was beginning to hear a noise that belonged to neither me nor nature. I was hearing some suppressed grunts and clanking metal. I could just see there was movement through the shrubbery ahead. The others, who were to my right, could probably see what was going on better, yet they seemed unphased. The rest of the squad continued with a zombie-like indifference to the ominous circumstances, as if the patrol was still as mundane as ever.

Marcono, probably reasoning my confusion, just mumbled the words "Knights of the Nine" and we continued to clank down the path. _Knights of the Nine_: I remembered that article I'd read, the one that quoted their leader.

As we got closer to the scene, I could see a man in chainmail armor, his torso covered in off-white fabric, kicking someone who was still hard to see through the shrubbery. The 'Knight of the Nine' was holding a sword in one hand and a drooping bag in the other. I became extra conscious of my weapon as this seemed like a time for the Legion to act, but the rest of the squad still acted as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. I decided to mimic them outwardly, but thoughts of the choices and consequences this situation presented were rushing through my head.

When the scene came into full view I could see the 'Knight of the Nine' was using his metal boot to kick a keeled over, leather-armor wearing man in the stomach. Armored stomach or not, it was still a cringe worthy sight, yet the rest of the squad acted as if there was no anomaly at all. Even though the victim appeared to be a highway man, citizens really weren't supposed to be taking the law into their own hands like that...even knights, licensed or not.

We were very close to the scene and yet still my fellows seemed uninterested. I looked at their faces, not sure whether to voice my concern, but their faces were expressionless. I saw the bandit's mace had been tossed nearly across the path. It was pretty clear he was a highwayman...yet I felt a bit bad for the pathetic bandit.

Now we'd passed the beating. It looked like vigilante justice, so I couldn't say I thought there was any need for a rescue, but it was extremely odd for the Legion to bypass such a scene. Not only did that 'knight' take the law into his own hands, he took someone else's stolen property to make his own. Or at least, given that he was holding that drooping bag, it appeared so.

I kept my gaze ahead, but my mind was stuck to what was happening behind us. No doubt that bandit was getting a lesson he wouldn't soon forget, but it seemed like the Knights of the Nine were defying our authority, what their leader implied his advocacy of in that newsletter.

I didn't look at any of the other soldiers' faces again, not wanting to draw attention, but I would have expected we'd put that so-called knight under arrest.

Then I could hear the sound of chainmail legs leaving the area opposite our direction. No doubt that 'knight' walked away a richer man. Now the grunts of the highwayman were much more mellow, more like lamenting moans, as he was left alone to wait for his suffering to subside. And still my squad mates didn't let the circumstances bother them...they'd let that 'knight' deal with that highwayman entirely. I felt an odd numbness permeating throughout my body as I realized I was witnessing something we probably wouldn't want the public to see. I had read their leader's provocative words in that newsletter, and now my squad was sharing jurisdiction of this road with those same "knights"?

I feared I had a moral obligation to ask my fellows why they over-looked that violation of the law. I tensed because I was I worried about their answer; these were people I'd be stuck with for quite some time, and if they gave me an inadequate response, I could see things getting awkward from here on. However, with a bit of courage, I spoke up.

"Those knights...aren't they...not supposed to be doing that?" I asked no one in particular, a sort of prickly metallic sensation on my face after bringing up what might have been a sensitive matter.

It was our squad leader who responded. "The Knights? Nope. But the Elder Council doesn't have the authority to disbanden them, and we can't get in their way without them playing the victims." He said, his words terse and firm as if he had no desire to discuss the topic. It was like he was already submitting to them; as our boots patted the dirt road, I couldn't help but feel annoyed with him. Obviously we'd dealt with worse from our enemies than 'them playing the victims'.

"So that's what's standing in our way?" I said, aware I'd let some acerbic tone slip into my words.

"They have a following." He said, with the same sort of terse weariness "Besides, as long as they exist, they'll just come back worse if we mess with any of their members. Like I said, the Elder Council can't disbanden them. That's an Emperor's work."

Again, it angered me to see him seal any sort of submission to outlaws, but the bit of anger that was fizzing inside me extended to the crippling situation of post-Oblivion Crisis Tamriel; without an Emperor the Elder Council's self-imposed boundaries were brutal.

"I've heard rumors they'll kill daedra worshippers they find in the wilderness on the spot." I heard Casnar say in a low voice.

I felt an odd sensation...some kind of...rising in my chest as I realized how serious this situation with the 'Knights of the Nine' was. Our squad leader tried to shoo away the topic again "Well we can't put them under surveillance without an Emperor's permission either." His voice was clenched in a terse frustration. Were the Knights of the Nine rewriting the Empire's policy on religious freedom right under our noses...in blood?

With all the shocking words of the last few minutes, I could feel a guttural urgency for a new Emperor, or atleast a decision by the Elder Council expand its own legal reach. I'd seen the abrasive affects of an empty throne so many times. Having "lesser men" in charge of affairs seemed undeniably better than leaving that seat empty. Regardless of what approach they took, though, tradition would need to be broken for the sake of survival. I'd seen the current set-up hinder our efforts in Elsweyr and now it was threatening Cyrodiil itself.

I was buried deep in thought as we continued Eastward when I noticed another person coming into view. First I couldn't make out much about him, other than that he was a Nord in some drab lower-class clothing. Not wanting to stare, I instead averted my gaze to the trees by the path. I wondered if he was doing the same.

But then I heard a new voice, no doubt the voice of this young Nord.

"Hey, is one of you Densius Fidelis?" He asked, still not in conversational range.

I turned to see him and nodded softly at the question. _I'm being single out?_

I could see he had a cheap sword in his belt, no doubt just for defensive intimidation, and I could now make out that there was parchment in his right hand.

Surprised to see myself getting any special attention, I continued to face him and stood still as he walked towards me. Out of the far reaches of my vision I could see Marcono turn his head to follow him, as clearly none of us knew what was happening. The young Nord looked down at his hands as he unruffled the paper in a tiny gesture of kindness, then, keeping his eyes on the paper, handed it to me.

"Thanks." I mumbled in a gravelly voice, not taking my eyes off the letter.

I began to read it:

_By order of the Elder Council, Lance Corporal Densius Fidelis will arrive at the Imperial Palace at 11:00am, Frost Fall 28, to attend a crucial meeting in the Elder Council Chamber. He will be relieved of subordination to any superior officer during this day, Frost Fall 28, and will continue as such indefinitely. Further details of this meeting will not yet be disclosed._

There was some illegible curvy signature below it.

Concise, business like, and surprising. Suddenly, I felt a new lucidity sweep over me as I stared down at the note that had pulled my life into, most likely, a state of substantial significance. I could already see Sergeant Marcono leaning in to read it for himself. A storm of deep wonder began to captivate me.


	9. Unseen Connections

"Pelinal Whitestrake, Nibenay warlord of the Elven Pogrom..." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Frost Fall 28, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Imperial Palace

* * *

I supposed there was something to appreciate in getting to see the place where all Imperial Law flowed from, and the palace did look sufficiently regal for such a job, but it had an atmosphere that was achingly dry and sterile. It reminded me of the loneliness I'd felt ever since my buddies in Elsweyr had been killed. Right now, I wanted nothing but to go back to the comforts of tradition. Even if Elsweyr had been so dangerous, I would have wanted to go back to the old ways if it meant Cicero and the others hadn't been murdered by the products of anti-Imperial bias. Ever since their murders, I'd felt so raw and uninspired; this call to the Imperial Palace had smothered that feeling longer than anything else, but it could be easily reawakening. 

Giovanni Civello himself had been near the entrance to tell me to wait for "the others" in the hall by the Elder Council Chamber doors, but it was obvious he would not be the one to tell me, or _us, _what this was all about. It looked like the Legion Commander was still waiting by the door for these "others" to arrive.

I checked my watch again. It was 10:55. It looked like I'd been waiting about...thirty-five minutes. Apparently the others didn't see the same appeal in arriving early I did.

I looked back at the stone wall infront of me, it was curved and toothed like a gear. Right now, I felt vulnerable and even silly in normal civilian clothing in the middle of such formal hallways. Visitors were allowed on this floor, but it was very rare to see them, so I must have stuck out like a sore thumb.

Then I heard the large front doors open. Maybe this meant there would finally be some change to reawaken that almost psychedelic wonder I'd felt when I first saw the invitation here eight days ago.

I could hear Civello talking in a low voice, in accordance with the palace customs, though I couldn't make out the words. Hopefully this meant things would finally get interesting again, and provide a diversion from my other thoughts.

I could hear some heavy breathing approaching my position, and saw a red faced Breton emerge from around the curve, wiping his forehead just as he saw me. His hair was dark and stringy with sweat, so he'd obviously run here. It stood to reason, given he had arrived less than five minutes before the deadline. But Commander Civello had said I was to wait for the "other_s_", implying some one was _really_ pushing it.

The Breton continued to pant and gave me a nod of acknowledgment while still hunched over. I nodded back, and then continued to stare at the tall, curved wall head of me. I'd let him recover, and if he wanted to make conversation he'd have to be the initiator.

I could see him moving out of the far reaches of my view. He was still breathing heavily, but this time he spoke up.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said in a slightly accented voice, and some movement I could see out of the corner of my eyes suggested he'd extended his hand. I turned and lifted my hand, and he eagerly rattled my arm in a handshake. "I am Ferrand Aumillee. And you are?"

"Densius Fidelis." I replied. He released his grip on my hand and but continued to beam a toothy smile. "Any idea why we're here?"

"None at all, but I'm sure it's nothing bad." He replied enthusiastically. Apparently he wasn't seeing this from the same angle I was: the sternness in Giovanni's mood had made me a bit uneasy.

"I sure hope so." I replied a hint of laughter."So...uh...did you get invited here too? A written invitation, I mean."

"Oh yes! But its not the first time the Empire has requested my services, so I wasn't surprised. I'm a professional healer, you see. 'Field Healer' I suppose you could say. More than once, the Empire has asked me to accompany and provide for their troops in rather rugged conditions." His words were crisp, obviously not as weighed down by heavy thoughts as me.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, then attempting to seal the conversation I said "Well, I guess we'll find out what this is about soon enough." Then turned back to the stagnancy infront of me. The fact that they brought a 'Field Healer' suggested I may well be here to receive an assignment like what I might do _in_ the Legion. It sounded like a long-term mission. There was certainly something intriguing about this, and I was beginning to feel the return of deep, strange emotions about our probable adventures.

I looked at my watch again. _That last person sure is pushing it _I thought. _Unless that khajiiti woman I'd seen walking by earlier was part of our group..._ She hadn't introduced herself and I didn't see where she went. For all I knew, she was just aloof and was actually waiting around the bend.

Then I heard a set of doors open, and judging by the direction the sound was coming from, it was the Elder Council Chamber doors that were opening. _But_ _I didn't hear the council in session..._

Maybe we'd finally see some action. After all, it was about 11:00am.

I could hear footsteps echoing through the hallow halls, along with the amplified jingling of chainmail. It was coming in our direction.

Then I saw an altmer emerging from the left of the circular hall. He was in a flowing robe, mostly red with intricate metallic designs running down the middle. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with the Legion Commander, who wore the same stern expression as before. It was certainly a very fancy sight, with all the decorative clothing and armor walking through the tall halls of the palace, but behind them I could see something that made the scene a bit incongruous: I could just make out a blind-folded Argonian in dark, tattered clothing, her hands behind her back with a guard watching over her. She looked like a prisoner.

The crowd stopped infront of Ferrand and I. Giovanni looked somewhere off to my right, nodded at someone who I couldn't see down the bend, and beckoned the person to move in. I turned to see what was going on, and saw the khajiiti women moving into our field of view.

"Friends," the robed figure began, his voice as plain and Cyrodiillic as you'd expect from anyone in an official position "I'm sure you are wondering why I have summoned you here. Well, I assure you, these invitations were an honor: you are not here on our suspicion. Truth be told, you are here in recognition of your expertise in areas that are important to a task we propose to you, but it would be best we not discuss this in the public section of the palace. Come! We'll all travel to my office. That will be a more suitable and comfortable environment."

He immediately turned to walk back in the direction he'd come from.

My mind was rushing with what might happen next as we walked through the imposing halls. _Our expertise?_ I knew a "Field Healer" and battle mage (me) were in our crew..._What could they want us for?_ The answer must be coming soon, though I couldn't imagine what. All these fancy halls were hiding some deep insecurity. I'd be given no hints at the problems I'd be dealing with. _Religious, political, or criminal? Peaceful or violent? Foreign or domestic?_

Those "Knights of the Nine" seemed like the greatest threat to Cyrodiil that no one was already tending to...they idolized historical figures of dark intolerance and publicly denounced the Elder Council, but I couldn't imagine anything a battle mage, a field healer, and a...khajiiti woman, whatever her expertise was, could do about them.

There was also that Breton Queen whom Cyrodiil seemed uneasy about...but, again, a battle mage and a field healer didn't seem like the types to be involved in that sort of thing. That sounded like a job for The Blades if anyone.

We passed the palace doors again, two guards in their decorative, white armor flanked either side of the front entrance, a bit of Imperial dignity still standing despite the prevalence of crime outside. It was a fortress of order in a time when Elsweyr was ruled by criminals, foreign monarchs seemed like a genuinely scary threat to Cyrodiil, and knighthoods tried to win the hearts of the people with ridiculous claims of their own heroics so they could turn them against their own government. They were the products of battles I'd chosen to stand by the Empire in long ago. It had given me a sense of brotherhood and identity, and was the closest thing I could see to a direct battle between the core of all issues, good and evil. The ambiance of the palace was still as plain and serious as before, but I knew I was about to make a contribution to the Empire, and there was a feeling of purpose and freewill to that all.

As we walked through the circular hall I could see a doorless arch, far lower than the halls, up ahead. Through it the floor was sloping upwards.

We went under the doorless arch, up the ramp-like floor, and then, after seeing scarcely more than a transitory room on the second floor, continued up another ramp. The palace was poorly lit in many places, causing us to dip into shadows quite frequently. Alone, a place like this could probably get awfully spooky. There was a door blocking our entrance to the next floor, so the robed man took out a key and unlocked the door ahead of us.

The upper floor was built in a tighter circle with a lower ceiling making it look a bit less mighty, but there was a deep feeling of anticipation flowing through my bones as I knew I was soon to hear why I'd been brought here. It looked like the robed man was eyeing the first door on our left. He indeed began angling towards it. He walked towards it, took out his keyring again, opened the door, and then walked into the room.

We followed him, revealing a well-lit, carpeted office. This was all a 'behind the scenes' glimpse of the Empire. The public wasn't allowed past the first two floors.

The official took a seat at a desk of dark, shiny wood. His guards assumed position at the inner flanks of the door, orderly like everything else in this palace, to an extent where it was not like the soldierry I was used to in Elsweyr. The prisoner was still with them.

I glanced around the office briefly. To the right there was a bookshelf, nearly full, and towards the back of the room there was another door. To the left there was a detailed map of Tamriel, hung like a painting on the wall, a file cabinet, and, closer to the entrance, a fancy couch.

My movements were a bit twitchy as I was not sure what the social norms were under this kind of circumstance. However, I decided it would be appropriate to sit on the couch, which had just enough room for three. I expected that blind-folded Argonian would be receiving sub-par treatment regardless.

I walked towards the far left to take a seat. It was obviously an expensive piece of furniture, but it didn't look comfortable: it was scarcely cushioned, with almost maniacal looking patterns carved out of its wooden legs and back. Still, it felt slightly more appropriate than standing.

The khajiit and Ferrand followed suite. I glanced over at that mysterious Argonian once again. She was being filed through here like cargo. With a clearer view of her, though, she looked vaguely familiar...but I couldn't find a memory attached to her, frustratingly enough.

I turned back to see the robed official lean forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped. I could hear the door behind us lock. Anticipation held me tightly.

"I'm sure you are all oblivious as to why I have brought you here, as you should be. Let me first introduce myself, I am High Chancellor Ocato: head of the Elder Council." _Chancellor Ocato?_ With a name like that I'd presumed him an Imperial. "I have requested your presence here because some unsettling news of the province of Black Marsh has come to the Elder Council's attention, something the Elder Council believes is in dire need of an investigation within the province itself. Under normal circumstances, agents of The Blades would most likely conduct such an investigation, but the circumstances are clearly not normal." His eyes jumped between the three of us at uneven intervals as he spoke "The organization known as The Blades answers only to the the royal bloodline, so The Blades are not currently under my jurisdiction and I'd have a full scale political crisis if I tried to violate such ancient tradition. Quite simply, I have summoned all of you here to help fill this void. I want you to conduct an investigation inside the province of Black Marsh, and report your findings to us." Immediately new images began flooding my head as I realized what was ahead of us. This was certainly unexpected.

The Chancellor sighed as if in a subtle bit of hardship then looked down at his desk, probably eyeing his own reflection pensively. It seemed odd to briefed by a politician on an operation like this; I never thought they came up with the details of these matters. He looked back up after some mild, unknown conclusion.

"Allow me to tell you how this...matter, this matter came to our attention. Our Legion has been behind a thorough investigation of the murders of Former Imperial Legion Commander Adamus Phillida and Leyawiin Guard Captain Caelia Draconis." I was reminded Phillida's successor was in the room, and couldn't help but wonder how he felt at the mention "We highly believed these cases were linked and, quite recently, apprehended our primary suspect." He gestured in the direction of the blind-folded Argonian with his robed hand. _That was my arrest!_ I realized. Memories of that previously insignificant moment now rushed through my head. "Under interrogation, she confessed not only to the murders but also made many other fanciful claims." The Chancellor clasped his hands, then looked down at them as he strained his mind to explain something. Now I was thoroughly immersed in the matter. _I captured the murderer of Phillida, and now she and the_ _new_ _Legion Commander are in the same room!_ I didn't look over to see Civello's face, but I couldn't help but feel his presence to my left, wondering how he felt about standing next to that assassin.

The High Chancellor looked back up, "This prisoner claimed to be an agent of the Dark Brotherhood," he continued as if she wasn't even in the room "not entirely unexpected, but she also made allusions to another entity. A... quasi-government of sorts in the province of Black Marsh...one whose existence is kept secret...one which is closely allied with the Dark Brotherhood. Its all very mysterious, far fetched even, I know, but we conducted research which reinforced the likelihood of such claims. If such an entity is real, the fact that it has been kept secret from the Empire, controlling the province without our knowledge, is certainly unsettling. But to provide aid to the Dark Brotherhood...especially after it has assassinated two high-ranking officers of the law in recent months is surely an act of war."

I was amazed at how much that petty arrest had blossomed into. I knew I could never feel the same way about my job in the Legion again... "The suspect did claim the Dark Brotherhood had been destroyed, that she had done the job, in fact, and that the recent phenomenon below the Bravil statue was...the death of its ruling council, the Dark Brotherhood's I mean." All these unexpected events and connections washed over me like a tsunami. "However, we have no way to be certain. Regardless, the Empire certainly takes offense at the thought of aiding this organization, whether it's currently alive or dead." I was being filled with all sorts of bizarre emotions as I imagined the vast horizons ahead of me. It all seemed like so much to wrap my mind around.

He then rested his arms on the table "We believe the Argonian organization to be a break away of an Imperial project in the area about two centuries ago. Our Empress at the time had given a cash allowance to a tribe of Argonians the Empire believed to be its allies, expecting them to aid our efforts in civilizing and taming the province, yet all contact with this tribe was lost." He paused again. Seeing this arrest linked to matters so far away in time and space was nothing short of awing. "We would like all of you to travel to and inspect that province as thoroughly as possible. Do all that is in your power to find proof of such an entity's existence. Once this is done, Cyrodiil will be able to act swiftly and efficiently to defend itself from this threat. As a secondary priority, uncover any other information that might aid us...militarily in this situation. You will have guidance in this assignment, I assure you, as the suspect herself will aid you in this mission. We have promised the suspect her freedom in return for compliance." That seemed vaguely dodgy, but I was entranced by the assignment.

"You three all have your reasons for taking our notice: We are well aware that Black Marsh is infamous for its diseases and poisons, so we trust Mr. Aumille's expertise to keep you in your best health. His records show he has never been to Black Marsh, but has been involved in many rugged assignments with our Legion. M' Nahrahe spent more time in Black Marsh than any other Blackwood Company member, so we recognize her experience with the province. Mr. Fidelis' time in Morrowind and, more recently, Elsweyr has given him experience in up-rooting the Empire's enemies in foreign cultures, and he received 'The Medal of the Red Dragon' for his steadfast bravery in his final instance of combat. We expect such loyalty and professionalism to carry over in this assignment." I felt an odd mix of tense discomfort remembering the circumstances that had caused me to end up back in Cyrodiil and an urge to smile at the heart-warming compliments of the Chancellor. "We understand this team is made of a modest number of individuals, but it is critical you keep a low profile in the province of Black Marsh. We want you to appear as adventurers." This was unlike anything I'd ever been tasked with before. So much was loaded on me it seemed mentally disorienting

"You three will too be heavily compensated should you uncover convincing proof of the suspect's claims, I assure you. In the mean time, please stay seated. It's time we discuss the details of this task. Should you accept it, you should expect to be away for quite some time, so it is important you listen to my words now."


	10. Sullied

A/N: To those who read the original Rogue Province, Rogue Agent, **Fights-up-close** is referred to as "Soch-Eena" outside of her prespective in this batch of chapters. Remember that she has a code-name (which, like all Shadowscales, she uses to avoid unwanted attention), because they are actually using her code-name in these chapters. "Soch-Eena" is not supposed to be a redone translation of "Fights-up-close**"**. If you find this paragraph confusing, just don't worry about it.

Oh, and this chapter has undergone minor revisions since its initial release.

"Every Province of Tamriel has its secret histories, but no land in the Empire is as undocumented and unexplored as Black Marsh." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 28, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Ocato's Office, Imperial Palace

* * *

"...with all that in mind, you may use your cash allowance as you prefer, within legal limitations of course." Ocato continued. I shifted in my seat, lucid with excitement. "We are aware that you could, in theory, take what we're giving you to gather supplies and never carry out this assignment, but given what we are offering you in return we doubt you will do such things." His face was stern and, annoyingly enough didn't show a crack of humor as his eyes swept over the three of us. "Though we are offering you freedom in how you carry out this task of uncovering the mysterious 'Argonian Royal Court', we have some very important guide-lines for you once you are in the province. The suspect, Soch-Eena, has already informed us of one of their sanctuaries used, according to her, to train assassins who are then given to the Dark Brotherhood. However, this sanctuary is very well prepared to keep away intruders, and its occupants are trained to burn it to the ground if it is sufficiently compromised. Such would destroy all evidence in the sanctuary and put all others on alert. We have, however, also been told this quasi-government has a central authority, a palace, deep in the inner swamps, in an area known as 'Helstrom'. We highly believe locating this palace first to be the wiser of your alternatives." 

These words breathed new life into me. All these plans for action were music to my ears. "If we know the location of the very heart of this organization, as we hope you will provide us with, the Legion can deal with this problem far more efficiently. We understand moving the Legion into the province may stir up some of the Argonian tribes in the area, so we would like to tread on as little ground as possible once operations begin. The better circumstances you set for us, the more we all add to your initial reward." My mind was filled with wonder as it dawned on me how much was resting on our strategies and art of infiltration.

Then, after struggling to find the right words to continue with, Ocato said "However, I must provide proof to the Council of this 'Argonian Royal Court' before...we can take any military action. If you can not bring back any presentable proof, your efforts are for naught. That being said, we also consider the headquarters in Helstrom to, most likely, be a better source for such proof. After all, all other branches of the Argonian Royal Court, from what we've heard of it, seem to be made to protect and extend the authority of the occupants of this Helstrom Palace, so we find it logical to assume this palace would be far less likely to engage in self-destructive behavior in an effort to destroy evidence of the Argonian Royal Court's existence." Talk of military action and acute planning: such intelligent and ambitious words were thrilling. I imagined the coming days of purpose and action. I had a chance to make a name for myself more than most were ever offered.

"Now, onto the details of your rewards." He began. I was attentive and invigorated. Normally, I was just asked to risk my neck for a bad salary. "Bringing back convincing proof will earn you each ten-thousand septims. After...operations begin, we will see how things fare. With our limited knowledge on this Argonian organization, I can set no specific goals, but we do have an extra five-thousands septims reserved for each of you if we feel you facilitated our dealings with this 'Argonian Royal Court'. "

I thought about the life-rocking changes those quickly obtained ten-thousand septims could bring as he gave some time for the words to sink in.

"Well," Ocato said, clasping his hands and resting his elbows on the desk "I believe that covers everything. The prisoner has already accepted our offer. So I ask all of you, now, will you accept this proposition?"

There was silence. It seemed like an obvious 'yes': I'd probably put myself at greater risk before, and definitely earned less compensation. Still, it didn't seem right to answer a question this big right away.

_But why not? You've got a clean, clear decision._

I broke the silence "Yes." I said, knowing the words just brought a colossal change into my life.

"Yes," said the Ferrand shortly afterwards.

The air was thick with anticipation as we awaited the final answer.

"Yes," said the khajiiti woman.

"Very good!" Ocato said with a new sort of perkiness "I'm sure you all remember where to head now for your cash allowance."

I could hear the others getting up and the soldier who was guarding Soch-Eena leaving the room. Slowly I did the same, still reeling from all the words. Yet when I was standing straight I heard a deep voice speak to me.

"Corporal Fidelis, I want you to stay a few extra minutes." _Civello. _Was I about to learn this assignment was even deeper?

I sat back down. I was left alone with Commander Civello and Chancellor Ocato. I turned towards Commander Civello.

He stepped towards me, then leaned in close. He pointed an armored finger at me as I looked into his stubby-whiskered, square jawed face. Then he spoke in a low whisper I wasn't sure if the Chancellor could hear. "Corporal, Mr. Ocato and I made this plan toghether, and we've had our differences over this assignment, but I warn you, _do not_ turn your back on that prisoner. The assassin, I mean, the supposedly-ex Dark Brotherhood assassin. She's made a lot of wild claims; says she destroyed the Dark Brotherhood's ruling council, the Black Hand they call it, all by herself. If that's true, she's a hero," he said those last several words as if he wanted to quickly get through them "but if she's lieing, she's a threat to us all! You keep your eye on her! Nothing is certain in what we're asking you to do, and if she comes off like a phony, you cut her down!" His eyes were now wide as he spoke, an air of savagery in his voice.

He gave a sort of twitchy glance to his right. His cynicism put a damper on my feeling of eagerness. Then, with a softer expression, said "If she's really what she claims to be, maybe we can take down this 'Argonian Royal Court'. If she's a phony, you have to use this job as a chance to prove it."

He did another twitchy glance off to the side. "You have the most important role in this expedition! You're the Legionary, you need to treat this group like civilians on a patrol! You need to keep the law and order, because when you get deep into that marsh, you'll be the only one to do it!" There was a sense of pleading beneath the rugged face. I stared into his glassy eyes as he spoke.

He looked off to side again, apparently his signature form of fidgeting, and I could sense this whole assignment was somehow coarse against his mind. "I know, given all you've seen of the Empire this assignment might seem a bit...trivial, but the investigation into those two murders has woken me up. I'd always had my suspicions the Dark Brotherhood had their hands in those assassinations... no one had given them more trouble than Philida, but after those investigations, I knew it was the Dark Brotherhood all right. No question about it. Philida's assassination wasn't even committed on the grounds of politics or religion, it was a despicable act of hatred and evil against a pinnacle of nobility and virtue!" The feeling of inner energy grew as he spoke of the nature of our enemy, only this time it was more a violently ill sort of feeling I was getting.

He took an audible breath as if the previous words had knocked his train of thought off track. But after the brief recuperation, he continued. "I don't know if this 'Argonian Royal Court', this supposed ally of there's, is really out there. If it is, that prisoner was probably honest, she probably did destroy that 'Black Hand', and I won't let those Argonians get away with helping them commit atrocities all these years! If that royal family exists it is just as guilty as any Dark Brother!" He looked me firmly in the eyes as he spoke.

I could feel the inner-charge seep deeper into me, mentally and physically, shaking the deepest parts of my being. "If she's lying...then the Dark Brotherhood is still alive and I won't let her lead _any_ Legionary into a trap." He glanced off again, as if trying to repeatedly gather his thoughts in a self-invoked storm of emotion. "We need your vigilance."

He extended a metal hand towards me, a leather bracelet draped around it. I stared at his hand for a second. "Take it," he said.

I slid the bracelet off his hand and held it suspended above my leg. The commander took another breath. "It's enchanted. 'Charm spell' the civilians call it." I looked up at him. "Normally we use these in interrogations, binding the spell to a piece of the uniform, but you won't be wearing a uniform." I glanced back down at the bracelet "Wear this whenever you're in...conversational range. It won't make your worst enemy your best friend, and these kinds of spells never work exactly how they're supposed to, but it should improve your chances of keeping her cooperative."

_Something that can tug around the human mind on my wrist. _The concept of manipulating people at such a deep level knocked my mind down another peg: to see an objected enchanted with illusion magic, a school of magic that always seemed to be chewing at human dignity, sharply contradicted the feelings of purpose, power, and dignity I'd felt when I first heard I'd been chosen for this important task.

He glanced to the side again. I could tell his anger at the Dark Brotherhood, something which Ocato didn't seem to possess in the slightest, was eroding him. This time, though, the glance lasted at least a couple of seconds. I could sense strong inner turmoil in him. He looked back up, a subtle desperation still etched in his face "Corporal...I'm not going to lie to you. This assignment...journeying so deep into Black Marsh, is risky. But if you die, you die a martyr."

He then ceased to look at me. Seeing the insecurity of a superior officer, an _extremely_ superior officer, made _me_ feel insecure. I felt sort of shaken by the conversation. The commander was already walking out the door. _"If you die, you die a martyr." _

Civello opened the door and exited. I could hear his metal boots hitting the stone floor of the hall. There was so much to reflect on, so I needed to very consciously decide to get up from the couch.

After a few steps I opened the door to exit the office. The rest of the crowd was waiting in various positions, still attended to by the other guard while Commander Civello was heading out of sight to the left.

Ferrand turned his head to smile at me, obviously trying to maintain the friendly ambience. I realized I probably had a nervous sort of look on my face after the Commander's words.

Neither of us spoke. "Follow me," the soldier still accompanying us uttered, then turned towards the door that led to the ramp. I knew it wouldn't be long before I would need to get to know the others in this group. Ferrand wouldn't be a hard guy to get to know, but the khajiit seemed shy, and the prisoner...I'd never tried to get to know her type, but that would be...interesting. But what about the bracelet? How would that factor into all this?

The guard opened the door down to the second floor. The soldier, followed by the khajiit, began disappearing down the sloped hallway. _If you die, you die a martyr._ I followed.

Ferrand began trying to make conversation as we dipped into the shadowy slopes. "Black Marsh..." he said as he mused over the province that awaited us "Now that'll be quite an adventure, won't it! I'm flattered the Elder Council thinks so highly of my career as a healer!" He said, as if trying to restore the invigorated spirit I'd somewhat lost after hearing Civello's words about martyrdom and Soch-Eena. I wasn't sure how to respond. We began heading down the second ramp, though my mind was still mostly stuck in that office.

All I replied was, "I guess we all should be flattered," just trying to show him I wasn't ignoring him. We were now at the first floor, about to get our first taste of coordinating such a rag-tag group.

"Of course!" He said pleasantly while my mind struggled between listening to him and replaying the Commander's words "I'm sure your leaders picked us all well. I'm certain they know what they're doing. My experience with your Legion tells me that." It was heart warming to hear a foreigner compliment Cyrodiil, even if rather lightly, given the post-Oblivion Crisis world. And his confidence did make me feel a little better, but if one person were to know the risk of a government operation I'd think Civello would be that person.

"So," I finally began try to increase the amount of conversation between us "How long have you been a 'Field Healer'?" Talking with another person still felt a little tense, but it was nice to have a feeling of acceptance, like I was part of a brotherhood again. Since I meshed awkwardly with my Legionary squad here in Cyrodiil, I hadn't really held a long conversation with anyone.

"About three years now, I believe." He replied. I was surprised. Seeing him selected for the mission, I'd imagined him as more of a veteran of the art. His time as a 'Field Healer' sounded scarcely longer than my Legion service.

"Are most of your assignments with the Legion?" I asked. I was starting to remember, back in Morrowind, we were probably accompanied by a 'Field Healer' on a few assignments, though I'd never heard them called 'Field Healers' before.

"Yes," he replied "'Fielder Healers are fairly common in Imperial Legion operations, but that's not our only market. I have spent time working along side wealthy adventurers."

"I guess you won't be needing to conceal your real occupation then..." I said, still trying to churn out conversation.

I noticed we were close to the exit, about to head back into the daylight where we'd have to start coordinating. The soldier grabbed the handle.

Half the regal portal opened. The sunlight seemed harsh after all the time in the palace. I squinted as we passed through the doorway and trotted down the steps, the air a bit less chilly than when I'd come in.

The guard mumbled "stand still" to the expressionless prisoner, then began untying the knot on the back of her blind-fold. When it fell loose, the guard pulled it back from her head. She put a hand infront of her face to shield her raw eyes from the sunlight. I couldn't forget the Commander warned me not to trust her, and she was the manifestation of half the danger that was ahead of me. _Is she honest, or is she a facade of the enemy?_ I kept my eyes on her as she adjusted, keeping a firm sense of dominance over her. When she finally let her hand rest by her side with nothing more but a few strong blinks, I spoke up.

"Okay, first stop's the bank so we get those allowances. Let's head there." I lifted my hand in a half-baked gesture towards the Market District door. I wanted them to stay ahead of me so I could keep an eye on them, one of them at least.

(**Learns-fast**): Gideon Sanctuary

* * *

_and now this once peaceful village in Skyrim is nearly completely destroyed._

_The War of Bend'r-Mahk set the circumstances for very much political strife. However, tension that appeared to be fading has now shot to new highs. The farms, plantations, and warehouses destroyed by the Daedric attacks could not have been rebuilt overnight, but Cyrodiil has the means to mediate this new wave of vicious fighting by sending more of those crops which are now scant to this region. However, the Elder Council will not act, prefering to do favors for an unpopular Mane or occupy a peaceful Valenwood._

_- Dreynis Belaal_

These newsletters were very useful, especially when Helstrom was putting so much pressure on us to gather information about what was going on outside our borders. With the fall of the Dark Brotherhood, I assumed that would be hard, but these privately owned newsletters enabled us access to two or three times as much information as we had before the trend started picking up.

The Elder Council's scant coverage of the Oblivion Crisis set the circumstances for these things to become popular. Now we were receiving fresh news about instability, panic, and distraction outside our borders, where we wanted it. I'd read even Cyrodiil itself had its stage set for civil war; the unified, exemplary Cyrodiil was teetering on the brink of a civil war thanks to the arrival of a new regime and a religious knighthood.

Of course in trouble times for Tamriel, the Black Horse Courier did as it did during the Oblivion Crisis: it went into denial, reporting stories no more stimulating than "Furry Fury Defeats Arena Champion Gray Prince" or the like. Without me lifting a finger to make it happen, our enemy was crumbling economically, influencially, and reputationally with comically blunt obviousness.

These kind of events made reading the news deliciously satisfying. Seeing so many other people who wanted to see the end of the Imperial Government, even if they didn't know _we_ existed, was invigorating.

How I wished I could take credit for this scale of disaster and distraction across the borders; If I did, I'd be in the palace already...The Oblivion Crisis, as scary as it had been, had probably come to benefit our operations hugely.

My mind dwelling on what I'd read, I almost forgot Helstrom expected me to send them all the important documents I could find by the end of the week. I took the newsletter and stuck it in the folder.

No doubt they'd find that newsletter concise and encouraging, and that meant I wouldn't have to deal with a grumpy official.

Still, they put a particular emphasis on learning about naval activity which I hadn't been able to learn much about yet. Now that I'd found sufficient information on everything else, that would be my next course of action. Planning those assignments wouldn't be too hard either: it seemed I could just send the agents to the same sites I'd used last time Helstrom made this request. This time around the task seemed like a lot less of a behemoth.

Now I knew I had plenty of time ahead of me for leisure. Knowing I had such an easy day ahead, I figured I might as well take a break and get some fresh air. With the Dark Brotherhood gone and the Empire getting mauled in every way possible, my life was drenched in joy.


	11. Prisoner of Concern

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor revision since its initial release.

"The origin of the species associated with the name 'Argonian' is the stuff of myth, not history." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 28, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): The Green Road, near Bravil

* * *

The swampy night air was filled with the chirps of various...creatures. I couldn't come close to identifying them, and we weren't even out of Cyrodiil yet. The sense of mystery in the night underscored the wonder and worry I had been feeling during this long, soul-wrenching day.

I was honored to be offered such a significant service to the Empire with such a significant reward, but now I could only look on this assignment sullenly. Commander Civello's choice of words made it sound like I might have been staring into the end of my life or a grievous failure for the Empire. He told me of his worries about the prisoner, and that brought _me_ worry, making stress and analysis the norm and leisure only a mean of recharge and diversion.

I knew the city was around the next bend, so soon enough I could stop using this light spell. My hand had been glowing for hours now. I knew soon we would be able to find an Inn, but as appealing as sinking into a quilted bed seemed right now, I knew my burden: I couldn't let my guard down with that prisoner. She could try to take her freedom early. _Should I even sleep?_ My first thought was a solid yes, as denying myself that after such a long day seemed so brutal, but I needed to be willing to endure any hardship that would benefit the Empire more than it would harm me. That was what I really needed to keep solid in my mind. I had to refuse to consider otherwise. Still, the shackles of that morality brought me a spurt of frustration.

Around the bend, the city came into view against the starry night sky, torch light at the entrance. I'd heard only bad things about Bravil, and its city walls looked ramshackle, with wooden supports sticking horizontally out in its seemingly sloppy construction, but there was no way we'd spend another several hours walking to Leyawiin, so this was where we'd stay for this anguish-coated night. Nearer to us there were the stables, the horse's area encased in a fence of poorly synchronized pickets. The house of the stable-keeper wasn't much more glorious in its construction, looking like it didn't take much of civilization to put the wooden thing together. Then again, everything I could see in County Bravil looked abnormally close to nature for Cyrodiil. Still, the elegance of the city wasn't anywhere near my chief concern, almost anything was elegant compared to the Legion Encampment conditions; the prisoner was what made this night so stressful.

The portal to the city required us to cross a drooping bridge of wooden planks. There were two guards at the entrance, one holding the torch. I let the glow in my hand dissipate.

As we got closer to the bridge, I wondered if I should confide my worries about Soch-Eena in either of the other two. Civello had called me aside to tell me of his concern, but I didn't know if I could keep an eye on her alone. M'Nahrahe didn't have any motivation to betray the mission, but she wasn't particularly friendly, only cracking into conversation briefly when we'd eaten dinner at that weird Inn. I had nothing against the Blackwood Company: I was glad someone finally broke the Fighter's Guild monopoly, but on a mercenary's salary, there was nothing inherently noble about her either. Ferrand, on the other hand, was very friendly but, for that very reason, it seemed too forward to ask favors from him right now. I didn't want to look like I was taking advantage of him.

The prisoner stepped onto the bridge, then the khajiit, then Ferrand. It wobbled a little, which was a bit unnerving given a river was beneath us. Yet we continued forward.

I felt weak and silly now. Unnerved by a bridge, wearing this tight leather armor as opposed to the bulky, imposing, Legion suit: I was actually feeling nostalgic to be back on a normal assignment. We looked like such a generic and lack-luster group of adventurers with our cheap or non-existent armor and uninspired weapons that we bought with our shares of the cash allowance, except M'Nahrahe who had actually packed chainmail armor and a dwarven axe for her trip _to _the Imperial city.

As the town guard opened the portal, I thought about how much I wanted this long night to end. I didn't know if I would decide to sleep tonight, but I had to eventually; this mission would last far longer than I could refrain from sleeping.

Unless I could build up a more trustworthy situation, I knew as long as that prisoner was on my hands, my time would be fraught with this stress that seemed to be eating at every part of me. The demands of the situation were sickeningly heavy.


	12. Mixed Feelings

A/N: Okay, there was no lore quote I could use to make this really clear, so I'll just make this clear through this Author's Note. Apparantly Morrowind's king outlawed slavery fairly recently relative to the time this story takes place, so the text from Eastern Provinces Impartially Considered that talks about slavery is dated, **Fights-up-close** just doesn't know it. Anyway, I've decided this A/N doesn't count as my standard lore quote, so...

"Black Marsh continues to be a 'backward' land economically by Imperial standards. Most of the agriculture is grown by subsistence farmers, though recently more has been shipped abroad, of Tamriel. Banditry appears to be on the decline in recent years, with most criminal acts being perpetrated not by outsiders, but by natives, such as the 'Naga' thugs of Argonian stock." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 29, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Near Gideon

* * *

It had been almost half a year since I'd walked down this dirt road, in the company of the soft fog, twisted plants, and warm nights that I had grown up around. But even as I was returning to normalcy locationally, this period was a new era in my mind. 

Even when my mind was so bound to the subject, I still didn't feel like I could wrap my head around all that had transpired since I was captured. In a few minutes in a prison cell, I'd put the fate of the Argonian Royal Court on the Imperial hands, and, judging by the subtleties in the politician's words, the fate of much more than that. I was working with the Imperial Legion, a group I'd previously determined as my enemy, and so far being treated not as an honored ally but as a slave who was milked for all she was worth. Mixed feelings dug deep and hard into me. The words of that politician continued to ring in my head, all conveying an obvious air of disconnectivity, phoniness, and facade.

_"The organization known as The Blades answers only to the royal bloodline, so they are not currently under my jurisdiction."_ _Not currently? _Was I a pawn in some Cyrodiillic power-play?

_"However, I must provide proof to the Council of this 'Argonian Royal Court' before...we can take any military action. If you can not bring back any presentable proof, your efforts are for naught..." He wants us to prove the Argonian Royal Court's existance, with plans to take military action. He's not looking for an objective investigation._

_"Corporal Fidelis, I want you to stay a few extra minutes." _That soldier was separated from the rest of the crowd, like he was supposed to know more than us. I had poured my soul out to their interrogator and yet their government insisted on putting something between me and their true minds.

I felt tiny as I stared into the vast world of lush plant-life and shadows as my feet patted the soft-dirt of the road. I intensely wanted to be away from all this heaviness: the questions, the stakes, and the thought. My mind was a storm.

I kept thinking about how much could rest in my cooperation; I'd determined the Argonian Royal Court should be my enemy, and the Empire might be the only way to get rid of them...but finding proof would bring the Imperial Legion to this province, and then what? Would they just oust the Argonian Royal Court and leave Argonia to its own affairs? That didn't sound like the Cyrodiil I knew. Disease had kept the Empire at bay, but if my soft-skin companions could make it to Helstrom, as the Chancellor suggested, why couldn't the Legion? I'd read about the massive trouble the Cyrodiils had caused in the coastal regions in The Eastern Provinces Impartially Considered. Even as it had been seeping into me that the Argonian Royal Court had been intentionally started many tribal conflicts through our assassinations, it was questionable if they were really worse for the Argonia than the Cyrodiils.

Sure, the Argonian Royal Court wanted me to hate the Empire, and the Argonian Royal Court was now my enemy, but I hadn't caught them on any lies in that area, and given what that The Eastern Provinces Impartially Considered book said, I couldn't confidently believe this party was a better allegiance. The book's lines were burned into my consciousnesss:

_When the Imperial Legion ventured repeatedly into **Reed-Dweller **territory to gather alchemical supplies..._

_Yet the soldiers were ordered to refuse to engage the Morrowind slavers in combat, and infact protect them as law abiding citizens..._

_Yet, even knowing the settlement was built on sacred land, its construction continued and expanded..._

_But consider the shame of the Empire's mute acceptance to the unspeakable practice of slavery in Morrowind. Instead of using our Imperial legions to free the wretched Khajiit and Argonian slaves from their Dark Elf masters, we pay our troopers to PROTECT the indefensible institution of slavery..._

My body was complacent with the Imperial agenda so far, but my mental state was the complete opposite. I was barred from any kind of joy, and bound to this dilemma.

Then I could see the burning torches on Gideon's walls in the distance, indicating our second day of this journey was almost over. We were close. Through the thick of plants I could see bits of the stables where I'd borrowed Mr. Lachance's horse.

My mind was out of sorts and my sense of time was distorted from all that had transpired, but I remembered I had come this way about half a year ago on my fateful trip _to_ Cyrodiil, during my customary change in employers. That moment felt like it could have been yesterday, and yet it seemed like a life-time between then and now. If I wasn't watching the calendar, time would have baffled me.

As we got closer to the wooden city, the memories of the city grew stronger. This place was my home at one point, and I felt an odd, captivating mix of hatred and nostalgia seeing it. I was deeply nostalgic for the state of mind I had before **Goes-in-heavy's** defection, when politics was whatever my superiors told me it was, instead of a giant sea to get swept away in. I missed those warm bonds I had with my fellow Shadowscales, and that feeling of purpose and significance in my work. I'd be surprised if I ever felt that way again. And yet there was a captivating, sickening hatred in me too: they lied about my history, about the purpose of their dirty work, and tricked me into killing my best-friend for being courageous enough to abandon the comfort we lived in (a moment which still brought me fantasies of self-mutilation), then when I had similar courage, they damned me to this existence.

I knew Gideon was under watch of the Argonian Royal Court, I knew we were approaching enemy territory now; Still, did **Learns-fast** even know I'd destroyed the Black Hand? No doubt he'd be suspicious if one of the agents found me with this party of "adventurers" in our homeland, but did they know I'd gone rogue? While I'd been more than a little irreverent before getting thrown into Applewatch, he mustn't have expected me to destroy the Black Hand or he wouldn't have thrown me in. Still, without any kind of contact with the Black Hand wouldn't he notice something had gone wrong, and that I might have been the reason?

I had a lot of decisions to make in this coarse existence, both regarding the Argonian Royal Court and my new crowd. Right after I tore myself from servitude of one murky agenda, it seems I might have found myself in another. I was being paraded around by an Imperial Legionary who wouldn't take his eyes off me and probably knew more about this assignment than I did. The Argonian Royal Court constantly went out of their way to keep me under surveillance and never told me the whole story either.

We arrived at the entrance to the town, our formation going from a triangle to a simple line. I could see the Legionary next to me out of the corner of my eye. I realized I was the only one who knew the city, and I could make things go a lot quicker from here on. I also had a general idea of how the Argonian Royal Court surveyed this city. Once we could get out of range of any other ears, I could fill them in. Otherwise, the strange words might attract unwanted attention. I could feel the presence of free-will as the idea of my first words to them hovered in my mind.

The portals opened, revealing the city I hadn't seen in about six months. The memories of my life in Gideon seemed to be coming back even faster now: the laughs, the training, the sense of accomplishment. My life was something totally different now and yet I'd ironically found myself in a physical throw-back.

The streets were nearly empty as most of the town was likely sleeping, with little more visible activity than weary guards and the dancing fires of street lanterns.

To show the other three I had the intention to speak to them, I began walking at a more brisk pace, just on the threshold of running. After six or so steps, I turned and looked at the rest of the crowd, whom I hadn't seen face to face in hours. For a brief second, there was an ominous twitch in the back of my mind, something wrong with this situation I was forgetting, another sprout in my tangled mind. But as the three others slowed to a stop infront of me, I decided not to follow up the baseless twitch. I decided to speak my first words to them.

"I know a well-priced Inn in this city but I should warn all of you that the Shadowscales do come here occasionally and I'm sure they'll recognize me if they see me." My first words to the group sounded odd after so much time of silence. It did bring me some pain to think of all the ignorant Shadowscales in that sanctuary seeing me as an enemy now, but I continued. "I'll stay inside until we plan to leave the city, but the Argonian Royal Court does like to keep tabs on adventurers who are hunting for anything that might be useful to them, so even with our cover story, we still might attract some attention from the Argonian Royal Court if we attract attention from the public. I don't think we'll run into any trouble, but better safe than sorry."

My first words to the party rippled through the humid night air. It felt like I'd plunged into a new mental storm, for better or worse.

"I hope you're right..." the Legionary said, a glazing of exhaustion over his voice. "I'll follow you."

I turned back to walk in the direction of the Inn in the dark and still streets. It felt odd to know I'd just helped a Legionary, very odd: I felt both a sharp, intense emotional pain and a heartwarming elation at the same time. It was one more thing to get lost in reflection about, making my mind even more loaded.

I continued in the direction of the Inn and I could hear the steps of the Legionary fall farther back...and with their fading came an encroaching sense of discomfort. I was still lost in reflection at my first words, but this time the mood was sullied. Those words no longer felt heart-warming. I realized I might have just helped the Legion before making a solid decision about them.


	13. Impressions

"It has been called the Garbage Heap of Tamriel, to where everything rotten and despoiled eventually flows. Its borderlands and coasts have been ravaged by civilization after civilization, but its heart is inviolate, for so poisonous is its air, ground, and water, its mysteries are secure. Detractors long ago called the southeastern swampland of Tamriel 'Black Marsh,' but to its admirers, of whom there are a few, it is Argonia." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 30, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Hackwing's Cry Inn, Gideon, Black Marsh

* * *

Light was shining through a crack between the curtains and the wooden wall, creating a beam of light that illuminated countless specks of dust before landing on the other ruffled bed. It was morning. I'd had the opportunity to skip through the most of the night this time. 

Except for my lack of shoes, I was in day time clothing. I could hear murmurs of my fellow "adventurers", no doubt trying to avoid interrupting my sleep.

I didn't move, just stared at the countless particles of dust moving in imprecievably complex ways.

I'd fallen asleep pretty quickly last night. I wasn't fond of the double bed set up, but that apparently had minimal relevance since it was already the next day. I tried to make out the words of the low voices, but I couldn't make out much. Ferrand's words "When he's awake..." is all I heard clearly.

I rolled my head to look at the ceiling. I was hungry, painfully hungry, but not eager to make any sudden movements or take the covers off. I made out the female words "I'm not sure if...". My stomach was making all sorts of bubbly noises.

I adjusted my body so I was on my back, then rolled my head in yet another direction. Now I was looking towards the right, staring placidly at the lifeless wooden wall like it was a marvelous painting. The words continued to flow and change, while the wall was stagnant. I continued to listen, curious of how they would talk when they thought I wasn't listening, yet still only blips of it were understandable.

Ferrand said "...but we don't want to rush to the..."

More excited and hushed murmurs from the other two.

Then I thought the assassin said "I think I can scout..." Hearing her talk so openly with the others complimented my sleep wonderfully. Not only had she stayed with us through the night, she was actively helping us. That was even further rejuvenating!

Then Ferrand again "But we don't..."

Then once again it was quieter, hushed, suppressed, censored. _Whatever._ _I'm sure they'll tell me when I'm up. _

I decided there was no reason to keep lying down, so I turned back to the ceiling and propped myself up, supporting myself with my right palm and left elbow, taking baby steps back into the waking world.

All the eyes shifted to me.

"Ah," Ferrand spoke "Good, you're awake." Then, with a trace of laughter in this voice, said "You were out for about twelve hours." I smiled, given his words reinforced just how satisfying it had been to fall asleep instantly and thoroughly like that. "A couple of times we almost tried to wake you." _Almost tried? Never heard that before. _Eitherway, I was grateful for the sleep.

"Thanks." I replied. Wonder of what I could do to make it up to them was dancing around in my mind now.

With a bit of willpower, I pushed my torso forwards again, now sitting upright. My stomach ached with a powerful hunger, but I rested my gaze on my legs bulging from under the quilt, trying to make sure I didn't get up too fast after so much time lying down.

Ferrand spoke again "We agree there's some more planning to be done before we get started, but it might be best we do it over breakfast." _Indeed. _I nodded. My guts were making all sorts of strange sounds. The others must have been hungry too, so they were great friends for being so patient, or at least nobly applying that reverence for us Legionaries most civilians seemed to have. I felt a touch of...guilt squeeze me just for thinking less of them last night.

Then I swung my legs around to the edge of the bed and waited for a bit, still trying to pace myself. What I could do for them beyond "thanks" continued to hold some weight in my thoughts.

Then I stood. I met with a brief feeling of faintness, still a tad awkward in the waking world, but it soon passed.

_Time to start the new day. _I eagerly shot my arms high into the air and arched my back in an intense stretch, eyes closed. When I loosened up again, I felt a moment of bliss.

I looked down at the floor for my shoes, remembering I'd taken them off very close to the bed. Yet as I did, I caught a glimpse of the bit of brown on my arm, the bracelet; My mood sank a bit. They didn't know I was manipulating them. Whether they were so friendly because I was manipulating them, or I was manipulating them despite that friendliness, I wasn't sure. Eitherway, the manipulation marred the mood.

I stepped around the corner of the bed, reasoning my shoes were concealed at the front.

Correct, I began to jam my left foot into one while I thought about all that had happened with this group. I had been able to sleep without the prisoner escaping, and then found out the group as a whole was actually a decent crowd, and now my mind and body were rejuvenated because of that, yet with it came a sort of...guilt in my hidden manipulations. I didn't know if guilt was the best way to describe it, but it muffled the feelings of comradery and unity.

I began tying that shoe. As I did, I thought about all that was ahead of us. This trip was drenched in new experience: the charm bracelet, the odd mix of a crowd, and the nature of the province itself. They were all things I wasn't used to handling.

The upper-back of the shoe was curving into my heel, so I jammed my finger tightly in the fold and straightened that part out.

I started working on the other shoe._ Heading to breakfast with a healer, a mercenary, and a former murderer to find a secret government in the most uncivilized province in the Empire._ There was a gripping irony to it that filled me with deep, uncomfortably deep, strange emotions...especially now that Soch-Eena seemed less and less like a captive enemy. I actually felt a bizarre eagerness to get to know her and get to know her experiences. If she was honest she had led quite a life.

Finished with the other shoe, I stood up.

Eager to eat, I spoke only the words "Let's go."

I walked to and opened the hallway door. This Inn was a bit like what one might see at Bravil: it was almost completely unpainted wood (though it seemed like a different kind than that of Cyrodiil) and like Bravil it was fairly creaky, with a rustic ambience.

We headed down the steps. Staying in an Inn so far from home made this feel somewhat like tourism, so to a small extent I tried to pride myself in where I'd traveled and soak up the Argonian ambience as it was. I knew as soon as we got deep into the swamps, that ambience wouldn't be anything pleasant.

My feet hit the bottom floor. My guts were making all sorts of bubbly noises as we headed towards the bar to order our food. There was no one else there, since we were the only group who decided to eat breakfast this late. If they were as hungry as me, it must have been hard for them to wait this long, so again I felt inspired to make it up to them...and again the reminder of the charm sullied the mood. Still, there was a lot I didn't know about its exact effects, and its range. Civello had said it worked in "conversational range", but what was that exactly?

Even my thoughts seemed shaky and fidgety in this hunger, though, so it was hard to think about that issue well. I wanted at least a spoonful of food in me before I strained my mind.

Each stool had a napkin, knife, fork, and spoon already set infront of it on the bar. I walked to take a seat on the far left.

After I sat down, the scaley host gave me a quick smile as he shined a glass, then, in accented Cyrodiillic, asked me cheerfully "What can I do for you?"

"Uh...four menus, please." I said. He set the glass down on the bar and crouched down to get something from below. My hands quivered with hunger. I glanced briefly to the side to see M'Nahrahe was sitting next to me, and Ferrand next to her, and Soch-Eena next to him.

When he returned to the surface, he gently set down four menus on the bar. "There you go." He said with another smile.

I mumbled a quiet "Thanks." and immediately shot my hand towards one of the menus, grabbing it from the top of the stack. I opened it and began reading.

I skimmed the menu. It was divided into two sections, one written in Cyrodiillic, and one in the native language. The available meals were either Cyrodiillic or Argonian as well. The Argonian food didn't look offensive, but I decided to play it safe and go with oatmeal.

I looked back up at the publican "I'll uh...have the oatmeal." _There are better times for "ambience"._

"Mak-Zad Rareeus." M'Nahrahe said, which sounded like a dish from the menu.

"I'll take the _Soa-jsha-zun_ Rareeus." Soch-Eena said, her voice becoming exotic with the words.

"The Soa-jsha-zun Rareeus too, please." Ferrand said, mimicking the Argonian's exotic pronunciation of the dish-name.

I was the only one not going native, I supposed that said something about my personality.

The publican grabbed a bowl and walked it over to a large pot with a dipper on a wrack not far from it. He dipped the dipper into the pot and poured the contents into the bowl. It looked like my oatmeal. Excellent. I was satisfied I'd be eating in less than a minute. I reached into my pocket and felt around for three single-Septim coins, then put them on the bar for the host to take when he was ready. Now I was down to ten septims, the last of my share of the cash allowance.

Then he put the bowl in front of me with two hands. I grabbed the spoon.

I took a spoonful of oatmeal and, to check its temperature, hovered it shakily over my mouth. Luke warm at the hottest, but that was good to me. I gratefully started eating, beginning to pacify my ravenous hunger.

"Densius!" Soch-Eena whispered sharply, the words shaking my mind in my state of feral hunger. I turned to her. She gave me the 'one-minute' sign and then got off her seat to walk towards me. I guessed it was to make sure she'd be in a position where I could hear what she was going to say, but the publican wouldn't. I swung my legs to the right and turned to face her as she arrived by me. She leaned in and whispered, "We're thinking I should scout out the Gideon sanctuary first, just so we don't pass up a chance to find this evidence early."

"You alone?" I inquired in not-so-innocent curiosity, keeping a firm sense of dominance over her.

"Makes it easier to avoid detection," She said dryly.

_Alone_...she had a convincing reason for it but it was a perfect opportunity for her escape. The friction, this was it: my test of vigilance as a Legionary. I felt a kind of sick feeling replacing the hunger as I knew there was a moment of dilemma coming.

I supposed I didn't have to hide that I didn't trust her. I was supposed to be incharge here and she was a proven criminal, afterall. She waited in fresh eagerness for my words.

"I'll think about it." I said, then turned back to my oatmeal.

I heard her walk back to her seat. My mind began rushing immediately afterwards. I couldn't really feel a pull eitherway. I considered what both possible follies could lead to: If I let her go, there was the risk of her running off a free murderer, or worse, putting us secretly on this...Argonian Royal Court's hitlist. However, if keeping her here was a mistake, we might journey to Helstrom or die trying when she could have found that evidence for us right away; then there was the idea that she could get spotted early if she headed to that supposedly intruder-proof sanctuary, but I discarded that idea before it had time to grow: she was the expert on stealth and the Argonian Royal Court, not me.

I tried to imagine the sting of both possible mistakes, juxtaposing them, but nothing seemed obvious...and I couldn't find a way to really weigh the two sides of the decision.

I continued to eat the oatmeal, but in a very mechanical way. I was lost in thought on the issue.

I tried weighing it dryly and mathematically. _If she goes out...we'd have an opportunity to end this...successfully, early; we'd also have an opportunity to fail this immediately. _I'd rather ensure our success than rush it, so that pointed to keeping her here..._yet this won't be her only opportunity for escape, and if all I do is worry about her escape there was no point in my superiors letting her help us. _

I was satisfied in getting somewhere with the decision. My mind felt re-oiled. _So what it comes down to is...if I am worried about her escape...then that means my superiours had made a mistake by bringing her along, which is unlikely. So let her go?_

But Civello had warned me to be careful of her, and he probably knew more about her type than Ocato. _What did he say exactly? "you keep an eye on her." "don't turn your back on her."_ And if letting her go to the sanctuary wasn't turning my back on her, what was? But wasn't I turning my back on her when I slept last night too? All the sudden, my mind didn't feel so 'well-oiled'.

_So what does this come down to?_

_Whether I should trust her with her easiest opportunity to escape._ Well, if this wasn't what Civello had warned me about, nothing was. I would keep her with us.

Now it was time to apply my conclusion. I knew it could be a grievously damning one, but so could its opposite.

I got up to walk to her seat. Hearing my approach, she swung around to face me.

When I arrived I whispered "About that 'scouting the sanctuary', I think we should stay together."

"You mean go straight for Helstrom?" She asked in a similarly hushed voice.

I knew there'd be a lot of weight on my words now: I could be turning this assignment from a mediocre, government funded vacation for the three of us to a rigorous trek, but I'd found logic to back up the decision to keep her with us so it was time to seal that decision.

"I...guess." I replied. I knew someone could hate me for those words, but perhaps the charm would cushion the blows it could do to the impression I was leaving on them.

"Whatever you say." She said, a bit of disapointment in her voice, but that was all. I turned to walk back to my seat, yet as I walked, her tone kept my mind on my last words.

I lingered on them for awhile. Now we were going to have to journey deeper into the swamps than any explorer before us ever had, and search for this Helstrom Headquarters in the most treacherous and concealing conditions on Tamriel. _But my decision was logical_, I repeated to myself.


	14. Polarized Socialization

A/N: This release was originally going to contain four chapters, but I decided the ending to the next chapter felt sufficently cliffy, so it will only contain these two. The sixteenth and seventeenth chapters of this story will be released shortly, however.

"The sudden death of King Llethan, and the subsequent coronation of Barenziah's son Helseth, was the source of much discussion, but as one Nord diplomat famously put it, 'The new king is manipulative, ruthless, and calculating. He is exactly what Morrowind needs.'

The young king has been somewhat of an enigma, both to outside observers and to his own subjects. One of Helseth's first edicts as King seemed particularly designed to dismantle the traditional power structures of the Dunmer. In accordance with the longstanding wishes of the Empire, he outlawed slavery throughout Morrowind. The reaction to this was bloody, as could be predicted, though the alliances formed were far from expected. As Helseth himself put it in a speech to his people, 'If there is to be a revolution, it is best done by a King.'" - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Frost Fall 30, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Black Marsh

* * *

There was no path this deep in the wilderness, we were just using our compasses to head roughly in the direction of Helstrom with some detouring guideance by M'Nahrahe, who I'd discovered had an annoying tendency to tac a khajiiti dialect onto her speech despite her Nibenian accent. She was far ahead of me, the green light from my hand just barely brushed her tail as she lead us, and her lower body was constantly dissappearing through shrubbery. I guessed it was her natural night-eye that made able to walk through the darkness ahead. M'Nahrahe was leading us to a place she thought was a good spot to stop to start a fire, pitch a tent, and set up those bug repellent torches. Then we could catch and cook something to eat, and end this epic day 

Bizarre animal noises occasionally joined the constant chirping of bugs. This place was a bit eerie. Of course, most people's main quibble with a swamp was its smell, but thank the Nine my sense of smell was very poor, even for a human. Regardless, I wasn't going to complain about anything here until it mattered medically, because it was my orders that brought us here. In fact, I'd been silent since we left Gideon because it seemed awkward to talk with them after I'd forced them into this. Ferrand clearly didn't harbor any feelings of ill-will towards me for, but I wasn't sure about the girls.

Branches and leaves slapped my leather armor as I walked through the greedily abundant shubbery. Then I ducked under the thin, crooked trunk of a tree, the likes of which were unseen in Cyrodiil but the norm here.

"I'm getting terribly hungry," Ferrand said "I do hope we're close to that creek." I could feel the tension on M'Nahrahe's temper even before she responded.

"Your hopes won't bring us there any sooner." She said, annoyance evident in her tone. I'd spent my cash allowance a bit wiser than Ferrand had apparantly, spending my last ten septims on fruits and mead: enough to keep my digestive system content up until dinner. Right now, every one of us might as well have been in a parellel universe.

I felt a prick of pain on my hand and shook it violently. No doubt another bug bite. Pricks of pain and itch were something that was common place in this swamp.

Yet as we continued forward I noticed the shubbery parting to reveal a bald spot, a relatively large areas with only mud, dead leaves, and twigs on the ground. At the opposite edge of the bald spot the only plants were reeds, and it looked like there was a creek shortly beyond them. This must have been the area M'Nahrahe was talking about.

Once M'Nahrahe was in the center of that relatively clear spot, she was starting to turn around.

Then when she was facing in our direction, she riggled and twisted with her backpack until she was hugging it to her chest with one hand. _Our camp. _Now that we'd really need to start working toghether, maybe I'd find out how much ill-will they harbored towards me for bringing us deeper into the marsh. I'd just go with the flow and see how they treated me.

As M'Nahrahe worked to take out some contents of her back pack, I surveyed the outer reaches of scene. The creek was so stagnant it looked like a brown-tinted mirror. On its other side I noticed more knarled trees, but these ones had roots so high and abundant arching into the water that the other side of the creek looked like a wicker basket.

When I put my gaze back on the M'Nahrahe, she was laying a blanket of sorts down on part of our would-be campsite. When it was on the ground, she put her back-pack on it, then looked back at us.

"Get all the rocks and driest sticks you can find." She said. We were going to start another fire.

Soch-Eeena turned to Ferrand, her eyes also jumping to me briefly in acknowledgement "There are bound to stones in the creek when you're ready."

Then she crouched down and picked up a branch from the ground.

I had quite a wide selections of sticks to chose from without even moving more than a few steps, so I decided that, like her, I'd gather those first. To my right I turned to see a piece of knarled, leafless shrubbery. It seemed like it would provide enough sticks for me to do my part in constructing the fire. I walked to it.

I cracked a branch off. It seemed relatively dry.

With a simple task at hand, my mind began wondering, preparing itself for the more encompassing parts of life. Now that we had found a place to settle down, the bracelet was back on my mind. Were my group members coming in and out of the range of the charm spell during this trip? We'd never gotten very far apart, but we certainly hadn't stayed in the range of a typical conversation the whole time. I snapped another stick off that knarled bush and transferred it to my left hand.

Had M'Nahrahe been out of range while she lead us to this creek? And what about this morning, had they been within range of the charm when they were chatting before waking me up?

I managed to snap off another branch, then I proceeded to walk around to get another angle of reach for the rest.

Was this bracelet really effecting the prisoner's cooperation? I stopped to break off another branch. Would they ever notice how odd it was for me to wear a leather bracelet and then ask some questions? After all, when you took away its charm powers, it was an accesory that could be justified by neither practicality nor fashion, as far as I could tell with my limited sense of aethetics.

Even as I thought about them, I twisted my hand to disconnect another stick from the plant, peeling one half of the branch from the other, showing the inner wood. Then I made a final tug. Four more, I decided, then I would take the batch back to M'Nahrahe.

How would they react if they learned I was manipulating them? What ever trust was between us would get broken I could predict, and they'd probably make some kind of clear reprecussions. Regardless, it would be awkward, and I certaintly couldn't expect anything resembling the kind of opened, connected friendships I had in the Legion with the bracelet as any kind of factor.

I cracked off another twig, then was once again forced to pull and peel off some extra wood to get it fully off.

With Cicero and Zaheen dead, I knew it would be a while before I felt like I had true friendship again. Since their deaths the closest thing I had to friendship were tense attempts to make good impressions, while balancing those with my other goals, and then enduring grueling self-critique afterwards.

Trying to crack off another branch, I bent it at a 90 degree angle, then gave the splintering wood a quick pull.

_Cicero and Zaheen. "selfish gains in other provinces," _With their deaths came a reminder of the biases in Tamriel I so hated; the sadness was soon converted into an energizing focus on the destruction of the anti-Imperial biases and hypocrisy that this new Era seemed to be fraught with. I violently pulled a branch downward and twisted it off the fracture.

I noticed I'd lost count of the sticks I'd cracked off...it felt like enough, though. It was time to give them to M'Nahrahe, then look for those rocks. Unfortunately I had gotten caught in another hate trip, the politics I'd previously left behind coming back. _"Protect and serve the people?"_ There was an encroaching sick feeling as I thought about the world of double-standards I'd left behind coming here, walking towards M'Nahrahe to drop off the sticks.

When I got close, I dropped the sticks infront of her. They slightly rolled and bounced but remained in sufficently close proximity with eachother before I started heading for the creek to get stones.

As I walked towards the reeds, all those disingenuous dogmas back from my days in the Mages Guild also began to taunt me. _"If your land was stolen you'd be doing exactly what those Renrijra Krin are doing."_ _Leave it to a fellow Cyrodiil to make a comment that idiotically simple-minded._ Through the tall reeds, the ground gradually got muddier. Then it was outright wet. My feet were in a few inches of water as I came to the edge of the reeds.

I crouched down and plunged my hand into the creek as I felt the water seep into the leather sleeve. Soon I was pretty sure I was feeling a stone. This task seemed annoyingly meager when I had anger bubbling inside me. I removed the object (indeed a stone) and placed the smooth gray stone on a tiny piece of reedless shore, then crouched down again, soaking the same hand. _"Why doesn't the Cyrodiil pick on someone its own size?"_ _There IS no one Cyrodiil's size, except for Akavir, and they whine endlessly about the Empire's ventures there. Why is it people like him must preach that which even they don't believe?_

I grabbed a second stone in the creek, a bit smaller, and lifted it out.

I struggled within myself as to whether or not I should let my thoughts get swept away by my angry past, but I kept the struggle at bay long enough to decide to bring back the rocks when I reached five. But then, imagining what the fire would look like...I decided to go with seven instead. I crouched down again. As I gathered the next five stones, I thought about just how much the Mages Guild had shaped my current existance:

It was there I witnessed my first case of close mindedness, people I previously considered friends acting like rabid animals when put in the presence of Imperial politics, taking the argument in circles, and acting like a piece of their mind had been removed when they came upon the subject. It was in the Arcane University I witnessed what had grown into the biggest killer of the new Era: anti-Imperial bias. It was then that my patriotism became part of my identity. I felt my body heating up as I thought about it, so deep in angry reflection.

I knew I was going to have to go back to the camp soon, so it might have been a good idea to get untangled from the hate-trip I'd gotten caught up in, but the thoughts clung viciously to my mind:

_You don't want to appear distracted and angry when you gather around to discuss the hunt._

_Why not?_

_Because they'll think you have something against them, obviously!_

_So?_

_So then they won't trust you and therefore won't cooperate!_

Some part of me knew I was being ridiculous by insisting on keeping myself in those infuriating memories. I eventually had to continously swat them away to keep them at bay before I calmed down. I tried to focus on another part of my mages guild career:

It was also there that I learned the four spells I'd come to know today: Organic Luminescence, Hypothermal Projection, Projected Cardiovascular Suppression, and Magicka-Repellent Pulse (or, as they were know in their collilquial forms, Light-on-self spell, Ranged Frost spell, Ranged Drain Fatigue spell, and Dispel-on-self). All of those were useful in Legion duties.

After signing up with the Legion as a battlemage came my time in Morrowind, where I was tasked with helping to quell the bloody reaction to the abolition. That was quite an adventure, with the province's bizarre animals and surreal plant-life. It was so otherwordly it might as well have been a plane of Oblivion. Even most of the Argonians there looked alien, as most of the Argonian slaves were descended from tribes of the inner swamps captured long ago, before that area of Black Marsh became so much more deadly. We were the same squad back then as we were in Elsweyr, except Gilan and Mercator hadn't been killed and replaced with Hermanus and Hienrich.

As I removed my dripping hand with a stone from the river again, I noticed I'd lost count of how many rocks I'd gathered. Was this the last one? I placed it down on the few square feet of sandy shore that wasn't covered by greenery and counted. _1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8_. I remembered I'd originally wanted seven, but one extra wouldn't hurt.

I crouched down to pick them all up to bring to M'Nahrahe.

Putting my right arm agianst my leather chest, and using my left hand to pick up the wet stones, I stacked them in a row in the space between. Then I slowly raised myself again. Cradling in the stones with one arm, I treaded carefully back towards the camp site, keeping my foot falls soft, leaves slapping against the leather of my armor. Over the reeds, I could see Soch-Eena standing, looking down at the ground.

When I came to see M'Nahrahe again, she was already in the process of putting the finishing touches on the pile of sticks. I got close, crouched, and dumped the rocks beside her. As I got back into normal stance I could see a pile of rocks by Soch-Eena too. Then I heard more russeling and cracking twigs as the final rock gatherer arrived; Ferrand, carrying and dropping the stones similar, had just given her the final component of the fire.

"M'Nahrahe will handle the fire." She said, her choice to make herself a stereotype by ignoring the first-person putting one more barrier between us "Just leave her on her own."

But I complied. I thought briefly about what else I could do.

I remembered I'd need to re-adjust my Hypothermal Projection techniques to the humidity of this area before I could be effective with that spell here. I decided to go look for a good target to practice my 'Frost Spell' on; I'd have to adjust to this new level of humidity, as that would certainly effect how long the projectile would take until it became a snowball and crashed into the ground. I wanted to get some distance from the crowd, though, as it seemed pretty ingracious to practice lethal spells in their promiximity in these circumstances. I began walking ahead, hoping to eventually come upon a sufficently thick and distant target. However, I kept my path reasonably straight so it would be easy to retrace.

Most of the tree trunks here were so thin that none of them looked like they'd make good targets. This province was inconvienient in so many ways. I stepped over the tangled roots hoping to find a tree with a thicker trunk or something along those lines, still seeing nothing of promise.

I passed by some pointy, ray-like-leafed plants, stepped over fallen sticks, and pushed aside greenery to seek out a more promising target.

Then I could make out a moss cover rock, a bit more than a couple feet tall. Frustratingly enough it was probably the best target I could find without risking getting lost from the group. I was only about twenty feet from it, so I wasn't sure the humidity would visibly factor into this, but I figured it would take a while to find a target more promising than this. Maybe this practice would mean nothing, but I had nothing more productive to do.

I transferred magicka to my hand, breezed through the intricate cognitive tasks required to process it, and then thrust it into the air. The frigid ball flew through the air briefly, dissipating onto the rock.

There was a bit of snow on the point of impact afterwards, and I felt like the projectile had sunk only an inch or so. Still, the "sink" factor was hard to determine because the target was so close. Shooting at a target twenty feet away felt outright ridiculous.

Maybe I'd just shoot the projectile ahead, aiming for nothing in particular, and see how far it sunk by the time it was interceppted by something solid, or shoot it into the sky and see how long it took to become a snowball and plummet back down.

(**Fights-up-close**): Encampment, Black Marsh

* * *

"There!" M'Nahrahe said as the branches ignited and the orange flames began grabbing at the air "This should last at least long enough to the boil water." She turned to my left and said "Ferrand, you take the pot and get some water from the creek for boiling. M'Nahrahe will make the other preparations." 

I guessed I was being left in the background. _Good._ I had a lot to think about, especially after the soldier had denied me the ability to go off on my own: that might have allowed me some time to review the Argonian Royal Court and help me determine who was really the greater evil before making any final decisions about helping the Elder Council. But no one was expecting anything of me right now, and it finally occurred to me to take advantage of that. Now that we'd settled down, it felt like some layer of my mind had been peeled back to reveal a vaster, proportionally emptier reality in which I could see my deeper problems.

Thoughts about this matter were unpleasantly flooding my mind. If I could trust the Legion to just destroy the Argonian Royal Court and then leave Argonia my compliance with them in this situation would be a no-brainer, but the thought of an annexation stressed me. It was disease that kept the Empire at bay, but if disease wasn't going to keep this party at bay, then why would it still keep the Empire? Something had changed, apparently. It felt unlikely Ferrand's medical pouch contained some epic medical breakthrough that had recently become standard for healers, but the words of that politician made it seem so. After we found the palace and brought back proof, why wouldn't the Empire annex the province and do the same evils they did on the coastal regions? The desecration of sacred land, ignorance of tribal borders, even the Argonian Royal Court itself had been an Imperial creation, but one that turned on its masters.

Maybe there was some sly way to get the soldier's honest opinion about what would happen after we brought back the proof. He'd know the way they thought best. Maybe that could push me one way or another. Yes, I could stop this sluggish thought, I had come up with an objective. I could save the rest of my thinking for after I'd gotten his opinion. With that realization came a spurt of euphoria.

Ferrand emerged from the foliage holding the black pot with two hands. He gently set it down on top of its obvious holding place above the fire, then stood back up straight again. The boiling process really didn't matter for me thanks to my physiology so it was better to drink before it got really hot. Like last time, I quickly grabbed one of the nearby cups, leaned in towards the pot and grabbed the dipper that rested on the rim. Then I used it to pour in the water.

Then I sat back down. Knowing I had concluded my next objective to help end my inner dilemma, my mind was more at ease. The entrancing fire, the water in my cup, the chorus of chirping insects, and the swamp smell all made the mood relaxed and amiable.

I took a sip from the cup, the tangy water's temperature uneffected by the short contact with the fire. It even pacified my hunger a bit.

M'Nahrahe's voice broke into the entrancing moment. "Hunting comes after we've had our fill of water. Then we can pitch a tent and wrap up the day." She said. "Someone had better keep watch to make sure we don't become the prey of one of the larger creatures here, but I think we all know who that will be." I involuntarily snorted at the humor, as she was no doubt talking about the soldier. _He can't sleep that late for free._

Then, right on cue, I heard a russeling from behind us, and the sound of soft earth giving in under his feet.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him take a seat between Ferrand and I. I was content now in the orange glow of the fire that was steadily growing, causing the sticks to break, shrivel and blacken.

"Well," Ferrand began with a bit of laughter in his voice, "I must say this province is quite different from what I'm used to. Those flesh flies already put a rash on my hand."

Flesh flies: one more problem the soft-skins had here. Laughing a little, I commented "They don't seem fond of scales. I only have to worry about the big bugs." There was an extremely pleasant feeling of unity in the group now.

"We'll start burning the chemical torches once we've settled down for the night. We must hunt before that." M'Nahrahe responded in a serious tone, not quite intune with comradery between the rest of us, but that didn't concern me.

The fire was now licking the bottom of the pot.

I took another sip of water. Everyone was silent for a few moments.

"No contact with the locals yet." Densius said, throwing another sentence into the air for conversation. I assumed he was referring to the tribals.

Feeling cheerful and unreserved, I eagerly said "I'm pretty sure the tribals in this area mostly keep to themselves, but they're too focused on fighting the other tribes to even think of caring about what we're here for."

"Good." he responded, low and gravelly. Even a shallow discussion like this felt immensely satisfying and invigorating with my choice of allegiance out of my thoughts.

Then came M'Nahrahe's voice again "It's the animals who are the real predators here. This one's sure you've never dealt with the kinds of creatures this swamp is home to."

The soldier didn't respond. I took another sip of water.

My mind danced around for some way to break the silence, all the while wondering if someone else would. The bugs continued to saturate the night with sound, but no one had more to say.

Then I saw a wisp of steam rise from the pot. M'Nahrahe pushed her self up from the sitting position until she was upright enough to see inside the pot. "That should be enough." She said.

Densius leaned in and put his hand a significant distance above the pot, like last time we stopped for a drink. He casted a frost spell into the water to cool it quickly. The pot hissed violently and a massive cloud of steam poured out. Then he took the dipper and used a small quantity of water to douse the flame below. It too hissed, becoming nothing more than a few sleepy embers.

He then walked over to get a cup.

M'Nahrahe began speaking again "Now, its time we discuss the hunt. M'Nahrahe's sure none of you are familiar with the hunting in this swamp."


	15. Night Fight

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor revisions since its initial release.

"Betmeri, or 'Beastmen,' were the aboriginal inhabitants of Tamriel. Each Beast race has its own distinctive accounts of the mythic era before the coming of Elves and Men; each Beast race is as culturally and physically distinct from one another as it is from Elven and Manish races."

-Savant's Notes on Vvardenfell

Sun's Dusk 1, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Encampment, Black Marsh

* * *

_Night watch, _something I hadn't done since Morrowind. My vision was hazy through my eye lashes as I struggled to keep my eyes opened. A new wave of sleepiness was assaulting me. 

I magically lit my hand, concentrating with all my mite to make it as bright as possible. Then I stared into the green glare long and hard, eyes wide opened, hoping to wake myself up. But it didn't feel like it was working.

Being a sentry at night was something I hated, especially when my view was far from scenic. It was easy to see how this place had such a bad reputation; it was aesthetically uninteresting, of unfavorable fragrance, and hard to move through. At the moment my life was glazed with a dull anguish.

I opened my mouth wide in a yawn so strong that I felt a trace amount of pain at how much I streched my cheeks.

I checked my watch again: 3:07.

Then I looked back up only to see an incredibly huge bird in the sky facing me. It was closing in fast, I realized. Fear abruptly ripped through me. Soon I was staring into its beady black eyes.

I intentionally, quickly, and violently hit the muddy ground flat on my stomach, pressing myself hard against the ground as the giant bird tore through the air over me.

Rolling over on my other side to see it quickly swerve upward to avoid the tent, it knocked over and shattered the bottle of bug repellent fuel and then inadvertently ripped off a large chunk of fabric from our tent with its talons.

I felt a sort of outward pressure in my face at the unpleasant startle. Had I almost been snatched up to be eaten? I watched as the bird made a frighteningly efficient u-turn. I pushed myself up with my now muddy hands, sword at bare if the bird planned to insist on eating me. Then it was once again flying in my general direction, but this time swooping down at a different angle, not directly at me.

It landed on the ground and without a second of hesitation began charging ruthlessly forward. In this pathetic leather armor, I could feel my soft and fleshy vulnerability. It was quickly eating away the space between us. With its huge beak, ripping me apart seemed seriously possible through this cheap armor. It was several feet away when it turned its head, showing me just how tremendous its saw-like beak was, before it delivered a brutally hard and heavy smack on the left side to my face. It was so hard I thought I could feel a prick of its force even on the opposite side of my jaw. In a blur, I was knocked onto the dirt, my body pathetic against the power of the whack.

On my back, I brought my sword to bare, a protective buffer, as its beak was coming down on me, opened and ready to take all the life out of me with one quick chomp. In a quick slash, knowing I was in inches from death, I cut its tongue, causing it to recoil its head. Moving agilely through the alleys of lethality, I rolled away and got on my feet, staggering backwards in the fragile situation until my back hit a tree. The sword, what stood between me and death, was diagonal infront of me.

Again that large portal to death began charging forward, and almost instantly later its saw-like beak was being reeled back to smack my face again.

I violently ducked down, cold wind on my face before I was facing its chest, which was nothing but a soft, fleshy, but no doubt short-lasting window of opportunity. I plunged the metal into its bosom.

It screeched in pain, a sharp contrast to its previous audacity.

The bird was backpedaling when I withdrew my sword. With my own new found fury, thinking of how pathetic that bird made me look as it tried to severe my spin, I charged forward, intent on getting it while it was still dazed.

However, once it could backpedal no further it lunged forward and into flight again, over the tree tops with a sharp gust of wind. Its cries still echoed through the hollow night as it flew off. Soon it was out of sight, probably only to bleed out shortly later.

I had no life-threatening injuries, but I still felt somewhat shaken by what had just happened. Physically, I was still shaking with the adrenaline. _Is this province really so brutal that those creatures are typical visitors?_

I turned towards the tent to see Soch-Eeena coming out of it squinty eyed. No doubt the three all heard the ruckus. She glanced briefly at the broken bottle of bug repellent. Giving her some extra light, I channelled magicka into my muddy, right hand.

All I could think to say was "Some kind of big bird of prey came down and tried to snatch me."

She wasn't nearly as crisp as me at the moment, but lucid enough to say "Hackwing," half to herself.

We lightly surveyed the scene in silence. After the violent encounter, I was in a new kind of lucidity, partly blissful that it had ended without me dieing but still a bit sour that the fight didn't go very smoothly.

I could see someone else emerging from the tent. _Ferrand. _Ferrand looked at me with half opened eyes.

Groggy, but still in good humor, Ferrand said "Well, I suppose our tent won't be much use any longer." Probably refering to the missing chunk of fabric that bird had carried somewhere far across the swamps by now. "You're alright, I assume."

Despite the smack in face I received, I replied "I'm fine." Then turned back to the Argonian, her face now a bit more wakeful, and asked "Is it always this dangerous here at night?" The experience with that bird had been significantly unnerving. If this was a typical night in Black Marsh, we needed to find stronger means of protection.

She shrugged "I only slept in the sanctuary when I was a Shadowscale." I instantly inferred what a Shadowscale basically was. I certainly wanted a better plan for the next night.

I saw M'Nahrahe coming out of the tent to come see the warzone our encampment now looked like.

I looked at my muddy hands as I thought:

As a "Shadowscale", she must have been part of a larger, more established party than this.

_Larger and more established. _That reminded me of the tribes here. Feeling some promise in this train of thought, I tried to recall what she said about them:

_"I'm pretty sure the tribals in this area mostly keep to themselves, but they're too focused on fighting the other tribes to even think of caring about what we're here for."_ In my Legion service, our squad spent plenty of time with the locals, whether it was sitting down for tea with a sympathetic and prestigious Dunmer to discuss local problems or bringing a kidnapped Khajiit back to her family, the Legion had a more intertwined relationship with local civilians than most Cyrodiils realized. Maybe it was time to apply that here.

I looked back at her, as she was still standing idly, looking around aimlessly. "Soch-Eeena," I began "The local tribes...you said they wouldn't bother us. Do you think they would, like...shelter us, maybe? You know, if we gave them something in return?"

She looked down in as if in gentle pensiveness.

"That should work if we give them something in return." But she spoke with weighted words, not optimistic twang. "They'd have no reason to turn against us, but I can't promise they'll be willing." _I can't promise they'll be willing. _I vehemently didn't want to deal with this sort of thing every night, so her tone was disheartening.

Then there was awkward silence. I didn't know what should come next.

Then it was Ferrand who spoke, "Well, I don't believe I'll be getting back to sleep. I'd be willing to start that journeying right now."

I certainly felt the same way. "Me too." I said.

"Agreed." Soch-Eeena said.

"M'Nahrahe concurs." She said, her voice an exasperated sigh.


	16. Tribals

A/N: Okay, here are those two chapters I was talking about. I considered making them longer, given Blackjack's review, but since I said I'd release these soon after the last two, I figured it was no time for major changes. The next release will contain longer chapters, though.

"Rumors and speculation also abound regarding the Hist, a species of giant spore tree growing in the innermost swamps of Argonia. Some have maintained that natives worship the trees; others claim the trees are, in fact, a sentient race, more ancient than all the races of man and mer. No reliable accounts of expeditions into central Argonia exist to lend credence to these claims, and modern Argonians are reticent to speak of the mysterious trees." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 1, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Black Marsh

* * *

As the forest was bathed the dark orange of late sunset, it felt strange to know that I hadn't slept since the twelve hours I spent in bed at that Inn. This whole journey was mind-warping. 

Now we were in a much taller forest, where the tree tops just barely disappeared into the fog above. It was especially buggy in this area, to an extent that everytime I looked up it seemed I was being followed by a cloud of tiny insects.

I was ravenously hungry, I could think about little else other than food, but we'd already decided to just keep walking straight and try to dine and bunk with the next tribe we came in contact with. That pledge had been hours ago; I was affronted by still having nothing but shrubbery to look at, muddy ground to step in, and roots to step over.

I didn't want to shake up my consciousness at all, I just I kept silent and kept to myself for these last couple of hours, and just kept my gaze straight ahead, eyes pealed for any of these "tribals" through this fog that granted maybe a hundred feet of visibility.

Suddenly my foot was caught on something, and with my momentum I suddenly found myself in mid-fall.

The next thing I knew, I was face to face with the leafy and mossy ground, and there was a burning sensation in my hands as they were flat against the earth.

I had tripped on one of the roots and scraped my hands on another. Animal like anger bubbled inside me at the inanimate objects.

Trying to close my consciousness to outside influences as I fragily contained my feral frustration, I pushed myself up from the ground instantly and said "I'm fine" irritably.

I began walking again even as my palms still burned a bit. I briefly glanced at them. They were full of dirt, scraped skin, and speckles of blood. The sight made them hurt a bit more, but I just put my gaze back ahead and kept walking, an angry will of stone.

"Densius," Ferrand said "Those cuts could easily get infected, I suggest you disinfect it." Between the fall and the hunger, that comment gave me another spurt of frustration. There was a brief inner dilemma about whether to ignore him in my hunger-induced pugnaciousness, but even through the thick of bias I ultimately concluded I had no good reason to. I made the decision to stop.

"Just give me the potion I need." I responded darkly, then extended my left hand slightly backwards. I heard Ferrand digging through his medical pouch before I felt some glass against my hand.

As I brought the small potion bottle to my sight Ferrand said "Simply pour this on your wounds and it should suffice for now."

Only motivated by logic to be kind, I pushed out the words "Thanks."

I uncorked the bottle with a slightly shakey right hand. Then, suspecting pain and therefore tensing, I put a drop on my right hand. It stung a bit, but I scattered a few more drops on the hand, then turned my hand to the side to let the drops slide off and continue to drag their effect across my scraped skin. As I waited for this _new_ burning to subside, my misfortunes stacking, I transferred the bottle to the other hand and did the same.

I put the bottle back in my left hand and handed it back to Ferrand.

But as I looked forward again, I noticed something: Three faint, humaniod silhouettes in the mist. _Tribals_.

As our groups got closer and they became clearer, I could tell they were all holding spears. No doubt they could see our silhouettes too. Though we could probably hand their tails to them if they got hostile, I became extra conscious of my surroundings. My appetite was starting to fade. Bare-chested, they were physically imposing, no doubt hunters or warriors. I was starting to feel a little tense.

Then Soch-Eena yelled something in Argonian.

The leading spear-wielder yelled something back in an accusatory tone. He and his group seemed to be haughtily advancing on us, though their spears were not yet pointed at us. I became extra conscious of my sword, the main buffer between myself and danger.

After a bit of delay, the assassin yelled in Argonian again. The tribal responded with only a few words and his group continued their haughty advance.

Soch-Eena's response was long, full of pauses, changes in pitch, and changes in pace. As she spoke, the spear-wielders were getting so close that I could see the reds of their eyes. They stopped only about fifteen feet away.

The tribal's reply was no less forceful or conceded, but I had a feeling he was being a bit more negotiable now. He made a cutting motion through the air right above his waist before his words ended.

Soch-Eeena said one word in response, her speech now a bit less forcible than before.

The tribals then turned their backs to us. Then I heard her say "Follow them." As they walked back in the direction they had come from, we walked with them.

This was our first interaction with a local tribe. While I was used to interacting with foreign civilians, I wasn't even sure whether or not to call these spear-wielders civilians. In fact, _I_ felt a bit like civilian in their presence. If they decided to reject us, things could get very rough. The tribal's words seemed harsh, so a slightly sick sort of feeling was welling up inside me.

_The bracelet. _I wondered if it was suppressing any of their hositility and therefore changing what could have been a catastrophic situation in our favor. Was our safety right now the product of an oblivious mind's manipulation?

I wondered how it felt to be under the spell. I hadn't studied illusion other than that misfit 'light' spell, but it was a school that was subject to a lot of philosophy, legal issues, and religious uproar. If any school of magic might deliver some soul-crushing epiphany to the world that destroys human dignity illusion was it, but I was starting to realize that changing a mind might be a greater power than any flashy destruction spell.

A twig cracked under my foot. As we continued towards our unknown destination, I could only imagine the tribals were leading us back to their main encampment. While it would be interesting to see the place where all of what little civilization they had flowed from, it would no doubt also make it easier for them to contain and threaten us.

Silhouettes were starting to form ahead. They were tall cone-like structures with sticks shooting from their tops.

The three tribals stopped and I saw movement out of the left corner of my eye. I turned to see the silhouettes of two more Argonians moving towards us, their features becoming more apparent as they stepped through the fog: a man with an odd pattern painted on his scaly chest and another spear in his hand, and a woman to his right holding what was, as best I could tell, a crude, stone dagger, one with only a subtle curve to mark the transition from the blade to the grip. _A stone dagger:_ That was the kind of weapon I could imagine would _really_ hurt when it was pushed through the flesh. I tensed even more.

One of our escorters began chattering at the duo.

The woman replied something, pointing to me in mid-sentence. I felt an intense anticipation grip me. Then the man next to her beckoned me. I stepped closer and closer until the duo turned around and began walking, no doubt expecting me to follow again. I seemed to need to remember to breathe as we were moving away from the rest of the crowd.

Now this swamp felt even more alien. Now I was in the hands of people I knew nearly nothing about. This wasn't like stopping by a Hlaalu house for lunch and talk about the local problems: here the locals had the upper hand even in a very immediate sense. If these two got hostile, I could easily kill them, then run and disappear into the mist, but then I'd lose contact with the group and probably not find a place to settle down for quite some time.

I tried to think about exactly what they might want from me. It would probably be very hard to predict, given a place this uncivilized was no doubt fraught with bizarre, illogical rituals. As I thought about this, I wondered if these Argonians had ever seen my race before. They didn't seem very alarmed by my appearance, but the odds of a non-Argonian stumbling on any one tribe this deep into the swamp seemed low. I could imagine some alchemists, cartographers, or such types going this deep, but not many.

I began to make out the silhouette of a rather thick tree, at least by Black Marsh standards. It was shorter than the rest of the trees in this part of the forest. Through the milky mist I could see there was some kind of barrier by its roots, one that looked unusually square and rigid, something that clearly wasn't the product of nature. This tree, which I was beginning to see was in a creek, was definitely where they were headed. As we got closer I noticed those rigid barriers covered all sides, as if the Argonians had tried to carefully fence in the tree for some reason. My mind was rushing to make sense of what I saw, but right now it might as well have been nothing but blobs of color. Why would they put those barriers there?

I was starting to see that square barrier was a sort of dam, keeping water _away_ from the roots of the tree. I had never seen anything like it. Were they trying to starve that tree?

Yet the tree's branches were glistening as if they were very wet. On the underside of the branches were little yellow, round droplets. I saw one droplet finally release itself from the branch and plummet to the muddy ground.

The Argonians stopped infront of the barricade.

The woman bent over to pick up something behind the barrier. She reemerged with a large wooden bowl she held with both hands. The spear-wielder beckoned me forcefully. This didn't look like the makings for a macabre ritual. The tension was lifted. I complied.

There could only be the instinctive communication between these Argonians and me. I stopped when I was nearly between the two. The man slowly gently moved one hand towards mine. As I speculated vigorously about his intentions he silently grabbed my hand by the wrist. I nearly flinched as it got dangerously close to one of my scraped palms. He slowly brought my hand to the bowl, which I now saw was filled with semi-transparent, yellow liquid, like that on the tree. I had a feeling that was where my hand was going.

Then when it was hovering above the couple of inches of yellow liquid, my hand was pushed firmly into the thick substance. My left hand, and the bottom layer of his, was submerged in this syrup. Figuring this was all I had to do to gain their trust, I felt rather serene.

He slowly lifted his hand from mine, and I slowly lifted it from the pot, drops of the thick syrup slowly inching their way down from my hand. The woman holding the pot smiled warmly like a healer to a child, a soul to soul connection in far away lands. I was accepted.

(**Fights-up-close**): Black Marsh

* * *

I clang tightly to every second of waiting as we remained under the watch of this tribe, anticipating those silhouettes again to signal that we might finally be able to settle down. I replayed our conversation with the tribals:

* * *

Talking in a bland, humorless, wordy manner to be sure these spined hunters understood me, I initially said "**Strangers, we come in peace: we are willing to offer you something in return if you shelter us.**"

The older looking man spoke with an odd and thick accent and dialect that forced me to take some time to understand his words. **"Who be you!? Can you possibly have of which we want? How know we you will not bring us treachery, as the River People!"** An accusatory stab in his words. He and his group seemed to be haughtily advancing on us, though their spears were still down. My mind raced as I saw just how coarse our first encounter was turning out.

"**We do not know the River People. We come from outside the swamps, and are currently without shelter, but we bring with us potions and weapons that may be of use to you."** Afterwards I immediately poured over my own words. _Should we really give them our weapons? Will they really have any use for our potions?_

The lead hunter continued to pound me with cynicism. **"Put names to what you speak!"** I was starting to feel a little tense.

Almost unthinkingly, I poured out the words. **"One of our men can heal your wounded. We all have weapons far more...durable than yours. Surely if we seek your shelter, we have no choice but to protect your territory. And you have so many more people at your disposal than us, we couldn't be stupid enough to threaten you."** I immediately went back to pour over my own words _again_, trying to apply them. This time, though, I was satisfied that they were indeed logical.

They stopped only about fifteen feet away.

**"Makes sense; If you request but shelter and no access to our chief, I would see that we can accommodate." **His words were still cocky, but let us some leeway. **"But if you truly have a good reason to be here, you should not have fear of our tree. If you know it will not punish you, as you imply with your claims of innocence, let one of your party drench a hand in the sap. This will allow the Hist to punish you for any doings of wrong if you choose such, but if your claims are of truth, you have nothing to fear. But after you have taken this sacred ritual, you are not to get near anything of sacred importance again."** He said firmly.

I thought for a couple of seconds, not wanting to plunge myself into any big decision:

_Prepared to punish? That sounds a bit ominous_.

_I've seen Hist worshippers before. They always have baseless superstitions. Besides, we don't have plans to go against them in anyway._

"**Okay, we can do that.**" I responded a bit feebly.

* * *

I tried to imagine what was going on in the distant mists. Was he still walking to some sacred site? Was he in mid-ritual? Was he returning? I had never had an assignment involving this tribe, and while I was glad seeking shelter from a tribe didn't mean revisiting my dark past, that also meant I knew nothing of their customs.

Then I saw the three silhouettes. That waiting was over. Things could only get better for the remainder of the day. I relaxed. What lied ahead would be a whimsical relief of all the exhaustion and hunger from the walk over here. Protection was waiting for us somewhere else in the mist.

As they stopped infront of the spear-weilders, the woman said to the hunters "**His hand has drenched in the sacred sap. Treat them as you would ours.**" Now our day had entered a new, much better stage. Densius's plan definitely looked like it had worked. I felt blissful in that.

The hunters began walking towards the teepees, and we followed. I could hear the other two go their separate way.

I glanced at the soldier as we walked. His left hand was oozing with Hist sap and he was holding it far away from the rest of his body. Yet even in the almost comical position, he looked otherwise unconcerned with it.


	17. Hills and Valleys

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor revisions since its initial release.

"The historian Brendan the Persistent writes, 'The Argonian people have, throughout Tamrielic history, been perhaps the most misunderstood, vilified, and reviled of all the sentient races. Yet, those who have taken the time to experience Argonian culture have gained a greater appreciation for this noble and beautiful people.' It should be noted that the historian disappeared during his final expedition into the deeper swamps of Black Marsh."

- Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition.

Sun's Dusk 2, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Tribal Encampement, Black Marsh

* * *

There was no clear good time to get up. I lied in the bed roll, closing my eyes now and then; maybe I'd fallen back asleep many times. I didn't care since no one else seemed to, so I was happy now.

As I stared at the tan walls of the teepee, I felt a hearty sort of comfort and contentment. In a beautiful and inspiring way, our relationship with this tribe had gone from distrust to deep help and interest in one night. They'd shared their hunters' catch with us, then Ferrand had helped an Argonian with the healing process for a fractured bone, and then they'd let us sleep in an empty teepee. The way both sides could so quickly gush with friendliness reminded me of Elsweyr during the Oblivion Crisis, before many of the denizens of Dune had tragically started to reject the Legion. But here we had new bridges built, getting soul to soul between cultures at a rate civilians probably thought was impossible.

Being able hold a light-hearted chat with a former minion of the organization which I was supposed to paint a target on for the Empire, Argonian tribals, and an inter-provincial 'Feild Healer' made the previously large scale divides in the world seem gamey.

Solely on free will I decided to prop myself up.

My sleep had been refreshing. Staring through the casual opening in the entrance flap, I could see some moving legs. I felt crisp and ready to start the new day, join those legs in their preparations.

Wondering if I was the last one to wake, I looked to my right. No one was in any of the bed rolls beside me.

I threw my legs to the right then stood up, little weight of fatigue upon me. I was already ready for activity in this new stage of my life in Black Marsh.

Shooting my arms in the air with a profound and satisfying stretch, I felt a subtle ache of stretched skin on my finger tips. Then I brought my arms back around in cyclical motion.

Then I began the process of cracking my knuckles. I pressed my left fingers on my right hand. They cracked simultaneously. I did the same thing was my other hand when I noticed an anomaly on my left palm:

Something hard, but not coarse enough to be a scab. It was actually sort of smooth.

My mood began to sink as my mind was rushing with ominous curiosity at the oddity. I turned that palm towards my eyes to see a four adjacent smooth leathery spots on my hands. Grotesque in its mysterious nature, I remembered that was the hand that had been dipped in that yellow sap, yesterday shortly after I'd gotten those scrapes. Infection? This was a province notorious for its disease, after all. With that thought, the cluster of tough skin seemed like such a hideous deformation.

_Ferrand._ This is what he'd been sent with us for. He must have been somewhere outside the tent. I headed towards the flap, knowing the only smart choice in this situation was to tell him, but I tensed as I knew I was getting closer to my moment of truth.

Into the outdoors I came, the tribals making breakfast on fire. I saw Ferrand almost instantly, which felt like a misfortune. He was conversing with a tribal woman through Soch-Eena (the translator). Stress began balling up inside me as I knew I was soon to find out just what this ominous deformation meant for my future. Even though I picked up a fruity aroma from over by the fire, I could have no appetite. The tension got tighter as the moment of truth got closer, a sick sorting of feeling in me. Then I was close.

I pushed out the words. "Excuse me, Ferrand," Barrier broken. He turned to me with wide-eyed curiosity as I became extra conscious of my hand. I lifted my palm to show him, now plunging myself into the moment. "Uh, d-do you know what this is?" I said, weakly pointing to the thick, hard skin on my palm.

Now completely broken from his previous conversation, he looked down at my slightly quivering palm as I anticipated his words. He continued to stare at it as if it were some confidence-softening challenge to him. He eventually lightly grabbing my wrist to bring it closer. Without looking up, he asked "Does it hurt?"

"No, but it sure doesn't look natural." Even if 'natural' wasn't the most logical choice of word, it was the response that came out. He continued to stare, my own fear welling up with his uncertainty. With every second I awaited for the words that would seal a vast amount of my fate. I knew I might have been on the edge of something serious.

"I have honestly never seen anything like that." His words were soft. The deformation seemed to humble him. Suddenly I knew I was staring into a dark new stage of life, coarseness overtaking my future, a new overhaul for my mind in this over-bearing swamp. I could sense a quivering of uncertainty in his voice. He still wouldn't look up as if sure he could analyze the hard skin but still failing. As he spoke I could hear a quivering of uncertainty in his voice. "It almost looks like...no, that can't be...it...I could give you a 'cure disease' potion for this oddity. That's always a good default." _A good default...if that's the best he can do, that's a bad sign. _I was standing to face a very ominous uncertainty. Already I could feel my mind reshaping around this new problem.

He turned his head to his medical pouch, stuck his hand in it and took out something like what I'd seen yesterday when I scraped my hand: the tiny glass bottle.

I grabbed the bottle with my healthy, subtly quivering hand. I held the other hand as if it were in quarantine, everything seeming like a potential infectent now.

This bottle might do nothing to avert the colossal change in my life, but even as the power of the marsh dawned on me, I'd still try to fight it. I brought the infected hand briefly to the bottle only to remove the cork and quickly emptied it on the hard skin.

It _seemed_ to just slide right off, though I wasn't sure that meant anything.

I looked back up at Ferrand who gave me a feeble grin briefly before he probably realized how unconvincing he looked. I knew sharing the news of this infection had thrown something sticky into our collective consciousness, and probably broken the peace in his world. Now all we could do was watch and wait...and continue on with our mission.


	18. Departure and Welcome

A/N: I figured I should let you guys know that I have had a problem with spaces dissappearing in my chapters. Anytime I try to edit the chapter to fix this problem, new spaces seem to dissappear after I save. For this reason, some words may be clumped toghether in this chapter and the next. I don't know how to fix this, or when it will fix itself, but I decided not to wait any longer and just release the chapter.

"Before the rule of Tiber Septim, all Tamriel was in chaos. The poet Tracizis called that period of continuous unrest 'days and nights of blood and venom.' The kings were a petty lot of grasping tyrants, who fought Tiber's attempts to bring order to the land. But they were as disorganized as they were dissolute, and the strong hand of Septim brought peace forcibly to Tamriel. The year was 2E 896. The following year, the Emperor declared the beginning of a new Era-thus began the Third Era, Year Aught."

-A Brief History of the Empire

Sun's Dusk 2, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Black Marsh

* * *

The sky was tinted fiery colors and stroked with only wisps of clouds as we stepped over the low-lieing shrubbery of tough, pointy leaves. I could sense there was something troubling beneath the surface in this group that had been spawned last night; there was little conversation. Densius was slightly leading us via compass, but whenever I saw his face, there was worry in his expression. The same was true of Ferrand, who was normally throwing out idle comments in times like this.

We had the same plan as last time, which was to find a tribe to shelter us; that meant last night was a success, so I had to wonder what seemed to worry the soldier and Ferrand so.

I saw Densius glance at his palm. Something about it looked a little...off, but I was seeing it from an awkward angle and he quickly put it back down and out of sight. That was the second time I'd caught him doing that. I wondered if that had anything to do with the conservative use of words between our group this early-evening. Did his palm have some kind ominous sore on it, an infected cut? Was it life threatening? I still wasn't sure how to feel about his presence here in Argonia, but the idea that a mortal determent to his health might have been manifesting itself worried me, even if only for the awkwardness his death could bring to this raggedly stitched group. He was an agent of those who I considered an enemy here...how would I feel if he died? Was I relatively callous towards death after all I'd seen in the Dark Brotherhood? What reaction would be expected of me?

His death reminded me of the question I'd made my next mission to ask him: what he thought the Legion would (or wouldn't) do once we brought back proof of the Argonian Royal Court's existence. The problem was, in order to avoid arousing suspicion, I needed a proper segway, so they would think it was a question of conversational curiosity, and not something to aid me in determining whether I would continue to help them or not. Still, with so little conversing, that was hard to do. This stress-inducing matter had nearly been forgotten due to the other grim mysteries on my mind.

I began wondering how things would go if his answer was that annexation was indeed in order. _Will I just walk away? No, that would hardly do anything at this point._ I was starting to feel an encroaching sickness, my appetite countered with an urge to remove everything from my digestive system. _Will I have to kill them to avoid them bringing the Legion here?_ I was fearing where this was going. It was a familiar feeling...a milder form of the anguish I'd endured before I'd decided to destroy the Dark Brotherhood.

But_...No, killing will just cause them to send another team_. I was relieved to have the moral warrant to cast that option away.

_There would have to be some way to make it look like we investigated and failed to turn over proof for me to sabotage this mission._ But how could I do that?

Abruptly, my train of thought was severed by M'Nahrahe. "It looks like a river ahead of us!" She sounded appauled for some reason.

"Yep," Densius replied dryly without looking back, clashing with her tone in a way that seemed slightly cringe worthy "It's one of the branches of the Bramman river. I hope you remember where you left your water-walking potion."

M'Nahrahe stopped in her tracks, causing everyone else to "That means we're extremely deep into the swamps right now, deeper than the Blackwood Company has ever gone!"

"That was the plan." Densiussaid as if not taking M'Nahrahe's unnerved tone seriously. "Helstrom's somewhere deep in the swamps." I could feel the tension building between them.

"Densius, do you want us to go straight into the center of this disease ridden marsh!?" She asked forcibly.

"The Elder Council said Ferrand could keep us safe." He replied. I could sense the pressure on his temper, though his tone just barely portrayed it.

"Are you really going to put us at that kind of risk, Densius?" She said, a kind of degrading brashness in her voice that made this conversation more ominously captivating.

"We all agreed to it." He replied darkly. Anticipation wrapped tightly around me.

But then I saw not only a good segway for the question of the annexation, but an opportunity to defuse the tension, which was on the threshold of insults.

I pushed out the words in a voice that was innocent and high-pitched, directing them at neither of the two arguers in particular. "Just curious, what will happen when we bring back proof of the Argonian Royal Court? Does the Legion have plans to take the province?" My mind rushed over my own words immediately afterwards. For a few seconds, or perhaps only one, I felt extra self-conscious.

"No, they'd probably just come in and take out the Argonian Royal Court. It's not like we'd want to keep a large number of troops here given all the problems in the other provinces." He replied.

I relaxed greatly, but since I'd waited over a day for the opportunity to clarify the burdening suspicion, I made sure to get the message absolutely clear. Carefully playing my tone like it was one of surprise and trace amounts of dissapointment, I said. "You mean the Empire _won't _annex Argonia?"

"Well, the Empire probably has too much to deal with already. I mean, they need us because they're trying to get rid of the Argonian Royal Court efficiently." His logic was solid. I felt a burden lifted, bliss taking its place. I felt lucid and ready to do my part in our mission. Then, trying to take the opportunity to seal the conversation, he said, "The less we argue the less time we have to spend here."

But then M'Nahrahe cut in again "You don't think we could avoid lethal areas a little longer!?" She spoke with an accusatory tone, as if she was trying to unwrap some kind of deceit. "All I ask is that we spend a bit more time searching closer to the borders before we try to get ourselves killed!"

"M'Nahrahe, do you honestly think they would...have such confidence in Helstrom's security if it was in an area of the swamp that... you know...any jerk could walk into? I mean, if we spend too much time looking around elsewhere in the swamp, we risk other dangers taking us out. No doubt Helstrom's in the center of the swamp so we should get there was soon as possible! Besides, like I said, the Elder Council said Ferrand could keep us safe."

"The Elder Council!? Densius, in all the time I've spent in the Blackwood Company I've never once heard that the art of the healer has undergone any major advances in the last few years!"

It seemed odd Ferrand hadn't yet spoken up, since they were tossing him around in the conversation like some kind of commodity.

Densius said assertively, "Well the Elder Council has no motive to screw us over."

"You can trust them if you want," M'Nahrahe said, but obviously as some sort of segway "But I'm not going march straight into the center of Black Marsh just because Chancellor Ocato thinks we can pull it off!"

"And I'm not going to force you!" He said, voice high with offense "If you don't think it's worth the risk, leave. We'll take the reward."

The group was paralyzed in anticipation as we awaited how M'Nahrahe would respond. It had been a bold dare. I could only see her back and her clenched fists. I could only imagine her face as Densius looked at her with an expression weighted by irritation.

"Well, I suppose I've outlived my usefulness here eitherway if all of you refuse to listen to me. I guess I will be going." She turned to in the opposite direction allowing me to see the anger on her face.

As she passed me, I wondered if I was passing up a duty to say something to keep her with us. I feared I was. _But what would I say? _

I could see disgust on the soldier's face and shock on Ferrand's face. The sense of group comradery was even further marred. The rustling of leaves behind me continued to fade.

Then the soldier shifted his head back towards the creek before he dryly said "She knows she can make our promised ten-thousand septims with a bit more time in the Blackwood Company. We've got work to do." Then began stepping towards the creek. I feared M'Nahrahe's loss partly for the original reason I feared Densius's: I knew it had potential to make things here get very awkward, especially dinner. But also we were about to lose one-fourth of our group through her departure. "Get your rings ready, we're going to cross."

I saw him begin searching through a pocket. Even with M'Nahrahe's departure still the most prominent thought in my mind, it looked like we were going to go on as if it never happened...even with her still likely within yelling distance. He was shunning a pretty significant factor to the operation, but perhaps his lack of attention to M'Nahrahe's soon-to-be irreversible departure was supposed to be a statement.

_"The Elder Council? Densius, in all the time I've spent in the Blackwood Company I've never once heard that the art of the healer has undergone any major advances in the last few years!" _

_"Well the Elder Council has no motive to screw us over."_

I removed the "water-walking" potion from my pocket. Since this river was, if anything, smaller than the last one we'd crossed, I knew one small sip would be sufficient for getting across without wetting my clothing, but I didn't plan to take that sip until I was closer to the water.

I looked back up to see Ferrand heading towards the river with his bottle in his hand. Densius was still searching. I too walked towards the river, hearing the last dregs of M'Nahrahe's footsteps in the background, her absense soon to be sealed. Somehow I had the notion I should feel more about the power of the moment I'd witnessed. I still wondered if I was shunning a duty. My mind danced around the idea of bringing up M'Nahrahe again. I was in the midst of another test of the powers of emotion, logic, and freewill. _But what would I say? _I continued mechanically forward while my mind was stuck on her.

Then I could no longer hear her rustling. Yes, the period of the dilemma was over. That was my liberation, I just had to apply it. I was back into flowing events.

I noticed the other side of the river was bordered by some rather odd looking trees. It almost looked like a toft of greenery at their tops was dangling strings of wood into the river. I had never seen a tree like that around Gideon or Stormhold.

As I neared the edge of the land, Ferrand was already on the water and I saw Densius sipping from the bottle out of the corner of my eye.

I drank a small dose from the bottle then I stepped onto the water, the almost comical sensation of fascination was still there, but drastically diminished from my first time. As I walked over the river behind Ferrand and Densius, I tried to digest the mixed emotions in me. I'd sealed my decision about helping the Legion, a great burden lifted, but I'd just witnessed M'Nahrahe walk out on us, and passed up an opportunity to do something about it. _"Well, I suppose I've outlived my usefulness here eitherway if all of you refuse to listen to me. I guess I will be going."_

My feet touched the shore again.

Then I noticed a pleasant scent in the air, roasting meat. The smell awoke my hunger.

I could also see anomalous color and movement through the leaves ahead. _Tribals? _If so, it looked like only one. The movement was coming towards us, and the Argonian form was becoming more apparent. We all stood still. A Spined face became clearer. A young tribal man in a sort of animal skin vest, holding a jar, had, too, frozen at the sight of us. But he gaped at us with a wide-eyed stare.

"**Thes Blesseds**," He said in low voice, half to himself. I was alarmed by the odd proclamation, if I truly understood what he'd said through his accent and dialect. Then he looked behind himself and yelled "**Thes Blesseds!**"

Then he looked back and stared at us again, as if we were somehow baffling. Then again, there were two humans to my left, _had he ever seen humans this deep in the swamp? _But that didn't explain why he was calling us blessed, talking as if he'd been somehow waiting to find us. Yet I knew by treading here, we'd brought a significant shift to the minds of these tribals, all by surprise. My mind rushed to analyze the vast circumstances around us. He looked backward once more before staring at us again. His expression had probably softened somewhat by now, but we still seemed to be an awing sight to him.

I thought I could just barely see some flashes of color in the spaces between the leaves far ahead: movement. Then I could clearly see tops of heads as they pushed their way through the taller shrubbery, then the upper-halves of torsos. There seemed to be about one of the them every ten feet, similarly gawking, all stopping about the distance from us the jar holder was.

They had a diverse assortment of garments: the men mostly had vests like the first tribal to spot us, except for two who appeared to be wearing a fascinatingly efficient form of armor made from animal bones and laces, while the women I could see wore garments that looked like robes, but shorter in everyway.

One man, in one of the heavier skin garments broke the stunned silence, though his movements still looked a bit murky in his awe. He was walking up to Ferrand. I deeply wondered how the tribal would act towards the human.

The middle-aged Argonian stood there, his hand hovering in an irregular shape just below his chin. He spoke accented words weak with astonishment "**The third and final stage beed complete. Favor not seen for thousands of years is upon.**"

His gaze gracefully shifted to Densius, still astonished. "**Surely you must have done greats things to earn such favor from the Hist...and surely _we_ must done greats things to earn your visit!**"

Ferrand was now staring with a similar humble wonder at the tribal, though it was because he didn't understand Argonian. I broke through the dazed atmosphere to explain "They called you two 'the blessed'. They also said something about the Hist. I think we just got caught up in some religious myth." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw I had managed to tare the tribal's attention from the humans to me. This tribe had probably never heard a foreign language before; they really only knew about a sliver of the world.

"W...what should I do?" Ferrand asked, slightly panicky.

Trying to cool the mood, I replied dryly "Just go with the flow."

The tribal spoke again, not questioning the language he'd just heard coming out our mouths "**Of you all are welcomeds by our people. Allow me to lead you to our encampment."**

He turned to walk back and so did the rest of the tribals who had gathered to gawk at us, with varying degrees of delays as they pulled their gazes from us. As I began to move, I tried to pour over everything I'd just heard: They thought Densius and Ferrand held some kind of religious significance...this deep in the swamp they seemed not only familiar with non-Argonians, they seemed to revere them. It sounded like humans were some part of a prophecy to this tribe. Yet, even though they saw us, or at least Ferrand and Densius, in a divine light, it still all centered around the Hist, just like the last tribe we visited. I knew as much about Hist worship as I knew about the "Nine Divines", but it was odd to think that one tribe of Hist-worshippers could branch so radically from another; we certainly weren't a divine arrival to the first tribe we'd met.

I started to make out the encampment ahead. It was a relatively clear spot with something that looked sort of like a grave stone ahead, flanked by teepees to create a semi-circle of settlement.

As their feet touched the clearing their lower halves were no longer obscured by shrubbery; I noticed the jar-holder had some oddities on the back of his legs. It took me a second to even decide what I was looking at. It looked like rather thick hairs, each spaced a couple of inches from each other. I felt a second of repulsion before my mind morphed around the circumstances. Then it was just a couple of seconds of fascination; I had never seen anything like that.

As _we _nearly came to the end of the hip-level shrubbery, I could see there was a vertically cut log lying bark-down on which it appeared some fruit was being sliced. And, of course, meat was roasting over a fire. I saw a large spread of animal skin lieing not far from the fire, probably the place where we'd sit to eat. But I wondered if their minds could really be on eating when we seemed to be so intriguing to them.

He and most of the others sat on that blanket of animal skin and looked at us expectantly. Several others went to attend to the cooking. I wasn't sure what they expected of us. I glanced at the grave-stone once again. On its top was scratched an odd image, which, from left to right, appeared to be a bird's-eye view of a lizard, then a profile of an Argonian, then one that appeared to be of a human. My thoughts raced to find what thread could have possibly connected the human world to a tribe this deep in Argonia.

It was then that the older tribal patted the blanket, tearing me from the stone oddity. I walked over and sat. Once we were all down, some plates of sliced fruit were placed infront of us. I said a quick "**Thanks**," before looking back at the man, who I had a feeling intended to speak.

He was faced to my left where the other two were "**On behalf of the Sons of the Hist-Finder, I beg to you, tell us, what brought your graces here!" **I guessed he still didn't realize that those two couldn't speak Argonian. But even if I translated it, I couldn't imagine how they'd respond. Still, that was in _their_ court.

"He wants to know what brought us here." I turned to Ferrand and said.

Ferrand's eyes were wide and brow crinkled with worry "What should we tell him?" He asked in a slightly panicky voice.

"We could just tell him how we really got here." I suggested dryly, actually kind of impressed by my own quick and pragmatic thinking. Living in the central swamps, Cyrodiil would certainly sound appropriately mystical to these tribals, and not cast away our divine image.

"Ah," he said, his voice with a hint of relief "Right. You tell them that." I wondered if the tribal would ever inquire about the bizarre scene of us speaking a foreign language. It had to intriguehim after a life of only hearing Argonian.

I turned towards the tribal, and tried not to offer any more information than the bare essentials of what he asked for. "**We come from a land far from this area. We're looking for an organization called the Argonian Royal Court."**

**"I beg to you, tell us of this land, this 'Argonian Royal Court'!" **He pleaded, wide-eyed. All this drilling was making me lose my appetite.

I kept the facts clean and basic. In the bland, annunciative, and uncatchy manner of speaking I used around the tribals, I said "**It is a land where...terrain is more barren and...vertically inconsistent. We were sent by...**" this was proving more difficult than I thought. I was realizing just how hard it might be for them to comprehend Cyrodiil through my words **"...a much larger tribe. This Argonian Royal Court indirectly supported the murder of many of their citizens."**

He immediately moved in for a reply "**Please, tell us how we might aid your divine mission!**" His tone was insistent, as if we'd already refused once.

I thought for a second, and then asked "**Has your tribe been subjected to any assassinations recently?"**

**"Not." **He replied.

I was planning on asking: **_Have you seen anyone around here using technologically advanced equipment, _**but I realized that wouldn't mean anything to him. I didn't know how to continue. It was hard to think of how to explain the kind of clues we might find useful to him. His lack of experience around advanced society proved quite an obstacle in communication. I was beginning to realize just how mind-boggling the Imperialized world might seem to him. The impact of my childhood in a city, Gideon, on my perception of the world was really starting to dawn on me. There were so many ways he could have pictured the land we came from...or maybe so few.

He was the one to break the silence, no longer content with waiting for me to come up with another question "**How did thes blesseds comed to choosed you?"** _Come to choose me? _

Then I knew what he meant. It confirmed my suspicion that the only people he saw as "**thes blesseds**" were Ferrand and Densius, the ones who didn't look like his people. That took that little inspirational feeling of power down a notch. I was in the background to them, secondary.

Again, I tried to keep my answer to some raw basics **"I was once a servant of the Argonian Royal Court, but learned of its evil. They chose me because I better understand the enemy we are fighting than they do." **I was beginning to wonder if talking in these drawn out, matter-of-fact-ish sentences was really necessary. Were they talking in a similar manner, though?

I heard Ferrand's muffled crunching on a slice of fruit to my left.

"**Know you what they did to gain such favor from the Hist**?" He asked, still digging for information.

Since terse answers seemed to be working, all I said was "**No."**

He reeled back subtly, as if pulling his interest away from me so that he might retreat into his own mind to reflect on the matter in a wave of pensiveness.

Then he replied **"Some of our own beeds cursed. We know the Hist is angry. We thought, perhaps, yours comings was a sign of divine favor." **

I was starting to feel a bit sick as I saw we might have been in over my head with all they saw us as. No doubt he'd be pummeling me with questions for quite some time.

I noticed I hadn't touched my own plate of fruit.

**"We will see if that is true."** I said. I just hoped he'd be content soon enough.


	19. Mysteries

A/N: Given Blackjack's review, I'm going to start a trend of making chapters longer. This one, I'm aware, isn't very long, but for now I'm operating on a 2000 word minimum (previously I had at least a few chapters that went below that), and this chapter meets that requirement.

Anyway, I know this has been another small release, but I figured this ending was sufficiently cliffy. Plus, I think smaller releases will help bring more readers to this story, which, judging by the hit count of less than 300, it desperately needs.

New A/N: This chapter has undergone a minor revision since its initial release. Appearantly I was wrong, Skingrad is the guild hall for destruction magic.

So...

"Little is known of their homeland or native culture, and their alien physiology and customs are not well understood by scholars.

Most of the native Argonian population of Black Marsh is confined to the great inland waterways and impenetrable swamps of the southern interior."

-Savant's Note on Vvardenfell

Sun's Dusk 3, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Black Marsh

* * *

I felt stiff, I was just coming back to reality, the world piecing itself back together. There had been a wet dumping odd sound behind me. I remembered I was deep in Black Marsh, sent by the Elder Council to bring back proof of something called the Argonian Royal Court. As I blinked, staring up at a wall of the tee-pee, reoriented, I could hear a weak moan from Ferrand's direction. I realized what the earlier sound was: he had vomited. A sharp, unpleasant smell was coming from his direction. I rolled on to my other side. He was sitting in the bedroll, legs still covered, hunched over. I saw Soch-Eena also sitting up, with a look a of concern.

He wiped his mouth with his sleave, sweat dripping down his face, which had lost its usual flushed color and been replaced with a pale yellow. Appearantly whatever came out of his stomach ended up somewhere on the covers which formed a valley between his legs.

I noticed there was an empty medicine bottle lieing sloppily by his bed.

Ferrand gave me a look as if the reverse in his digestive system had taken a lot out of him, his hair darkened and strands clumped toghether with sweat. He was silent for a bit as if not sure what to say, then spoke in a winded voice "I'm sorry." He said before wiping his hand on his bed roll and looking back at his lap.

Not sure of a better way to voice my concerned inquiry, I asked "Are you okay?"

He took a deep breath "I don't think it's anything life threatening." But I had not yet seen the good-humored smile that he so frequently used in conversation. _"I don't think its anything life threatening_." A new feeling of the presence of life and death came about me. He glanced back at his lap "I'll just have to try a different medicine."

There was a short silence. Insects and birds chirped outside. The air in the teepee was still. "Any way I can help?" I asked.

"I'll let you know if there's anything you can do for me, for now maybe it's best you keep your distance." He replied.

He then leaned over to reach in his pouch and said, half to himself "I'll have to try something else."

I had to wonder who was going to clean that bed roll and when.

Past Ferrand, I noticed Soch-Eena and I were staring at each other. Then she shifted her eyes somewhere to the floor. I shifted _my_eyes to the entrance flap. Through the entrance of our tee-pee I could see a bit of the leafy ground painted a burnt orange in the sunrise. It was early. I wasn't sure what to do next.

I heard Ferrand shuffling through his medical pouch. It was weird to think of a healer healing himself.

Then, with dread, it hit me that these were the fabled sicknesses that fortified the marsh I was witnessing first hand. Ferrand was fighting the undefeated defenses of this province, the ones that had wiped out what few other expeditionaries came to the central swamps, right infront of us. They had finally swooped in for the kill.

Figuring I'd keep my distance from the preying disease, I got up to my left, almost hugging the side of our dwelling.

I got to my shoes and began jamming my feet in them. I was still in my pajamas, but I wasn't the kind of guy to be often ashamed about that sort of thing, especially around a tribe who'd probably never seen Cyrodiillic day-clothing.

Once they were both on, I hunched over to get out through the opening flap.

I stepped onto the leafy ground. I surveyed the scene briefly. As I'd suspected, everyone else was still asleep. We were three foreigners left in our own little world for now.

I began to pace, hoping not to attract any attention. But my mind was on the grim scenario in the tent. I could be that disease's next prey.

I rubbed the infamy I was in the presence of on my mind. Behind me, someone was infected with a disease I'd probably only read about in history books. Black Marsh diseases were the knowledge of so many but physically experienced by so few.

Then again, with heaviness of all that had already transpired, it was just another trier of this 'adventure' we'd been involved in over the last several...days. It felt like months since I had arrested that Argonian. Since then I'd seen the "Knights of the Nine", been informed my arrest had uncovered a fiendish and gigantic crime web right under the Empire's nose, and accepted an offer to work with a former serial killer who'd put some of the highest people in Cyrodiilon the ground. Now I was in a region no one, no one human that is, had tredded on since the Second Era. Now the weight of such a task was finally crashing down on us, taking out M'Nahrahe and, hopefully only temporarily, putting Ferrand out of commission. What about me? Had what the swamp had thrown at Ferrand also splashed onto me? Ferrand was sick, and we'd slept in the same tee-pee. I noticed I did feel a little nauseous, but was it merely the power of suggestion?

Thinking of sickness, I remembered that deformity on my hand. I recalled _that_ had actually been the first thing this swamp cursed me with. I wondered how it had changed since I last looked. I brought my palm into view.

It hit me that it had grown. Slowly, the clear feeling of truth began to liquify, though, and I began to second guess, trying to recall exactly how my palm had looked last night. Last night, it appeared to be..._seven distinct patches_...Now it was ten. _Or was it ten last night too?_ No, that couldn't have been: last _morning_ it had appeared to be four, and I remembered thinking _It's not quite doubled in size yet_ last night. Yes, it was spreading, yet I wasn't the one who was showing serious symptoms of sickness.

I noticed I was biting my nails on my other hand. I ripped them away. Suddenly my throat felt soar, as if I'd contracted disease in an instant; No, it had to be the power of suggestion. But I still needed to make sure to keep my fingers away from my mouth now more than ever.

I tried to find something else to do with my fingers.

I looked back at the deformation on my palm. It was odd that something which could distort the appearance of my hand so much hadn't demonstrated an adverse effects on my health. With a sort of fascination, I began tracing the cracks between the platelets with a nail. Something about that anomalous anatomy looked familiar, though it seemed frustratingly elusive. It was a tempting subject to pursue...but I only felt like the answer was fading, so I stopped.

I started to wander into the butterfly effect of this all: I was trekking deeper into this deadly and mysterious swamp than anyone else had since the Second Era, maybe longer, but that truth was set atop of long, tall, tower of causes and effects. I was selected for this expedition because of that "Red Dragon" medal. That depended on me being at the ambush at Cori Daglade. That in turn, depended on me joining the Legion, which depended on being born in Skingrad, where the guild hall specialized in destruction; heated arguments in the Arcane University had formed my political identity, but had I not already been studying "destruction" magic early in my career as a mage, I would have had an excuse for turning away from a career as a battle mage.

But, of course, my life had to be one unlikely sequence or another; What was _truly _bizarre, I now realized, was that the Elder Council was expecting me to find Helstrom solely based my courage during an ambush I just happened to 'lucky' enough to find myself in. I knew I wasn't an exceptional soldier, at least not nearly as exceptional as the circumstances they were asking me to deal with: I was supposed to go into the center of Black Marsh. Now I realized how very odd it was for them to pick me out of an army of tens of thousands, as if I was for once outside this situation, looking in as an objective observer. But the sensation lasted only a few seconds, before wearing out and dumping me back into reality.

I looked over towards the formation of tee-pees, seeing that stone tablet again, most of its front shadowed. I had been filled with wonder by its lizard-argonian-human sequence scratched into the stone. I could see, but not decipher, smaller etching at the bottom. The tablet made me curious. I thought it might be smart to avoid getting close to a seemingly sacred object, but then remembered this tribe was a lot cushier towards us than the previous one. They saw us as their superiors for some reason, no doubt some reason that had to do with that tablet. _We _were sacred in their bizzare little view of the world, so I couldn't defile a sacred object by being near it.

I decided to walk towards the tablet. Maybe I would fill my mind with a sort of rich learning. Maybe I was just as much of a pioneer as the ancient aldmeris.

I got down, one knee in the dirt, and looked closely at the inscriptions below the top three pictures.

The etchings looked clunky and childish in their depictions, but I could decipher all I needed to. The first level below that lizard-argonian-human picture was a picture of a tree, thicker than most here. Facing it were human figures, judging by their round heads and lack of tail.

Down another level were more human figures, some lieing on their backs in the awkward stiffness of the primitive art. _Death. _It was definitely odd humans seemed to mean so much to this tribe. We seemed to be the main fiber of their minds.

At the bottom, it seemed to be a depiction of banana shaped boats with human occupants, assumably rowing, though no rows were depicted, to a shore.

Humans coming to and dying in Black Marsh...the idea of prophecy dawned on me. The impact of seeing this tablet washed over my present and past. Were they foretelling the coming of the Imperial Marines to destroy the Argonian Royal Court? Thinking that the stone might have projecting a solid future gave the primitive art a sort of eerie power to it. It almost felt like the tablet had taken on a life of its own with that realization. I'd never been one to believe in prophecy, but of all the epic and mind-blowing circumstances around me, it would just be one more wonder added to the pile. As the vast implications of this area loomed over my head, I felt a few more strange emotions. My previous life felt sort of tacky with the epic nature of my presence here.

But did the Marines use those sort of boats to land onshore? As a Legionary, I didn't know; I'd never worked with the Marines. But who else could be rowing towards the shores of Black Marsh?

Then I remembered I'd heard of a human tribe in Black Marsh, the Kothringi, quite a ways back in my childhood. I tried to remember some other details about them..._they fled after the kanhaten flu or whatever it was called_. Then my mind was silent even as I pushed for more. Still, it provided a less ensnaring explanation. I tried to shoo away the sticky thoughts of prophecy, and looked up into the fiery colored swamp ahead. I tried to let the emotional coating they'd glazed the world with dissolve.

I glanced to my left and right. I wondered how the tribals might react to finding me out here, especially given that Soch-Eena wasn't by my side to translate. I guessed they wouldn't react, they'd just go about my business and leave me to my mysterious doings.

Still, I kept my eyes off the tablet so I would stop thinking about the idea of prophecy.

I tapped my right fingers on the hard patches on my left hand, with a muffled feeling of impact on my palm. I'd become increasingly comfortable with that oddity, given it seemed too late for something more grotesque and painful to become of it, but it was still a subject of some ominous curiosity. I had to imagine something like that would somehow shift my existence on a huge scale.

I turned and began to walk away from the tablet, pacing again through the fiery-colored swamp, letting thoughts come to me.

My mind started to drift to the world of civilization that I had now ventured away from, where people were dieing in storms of chaos, where the cries of the press echoed throughout Tamriel making their way into corners of the continent, where there was suspense as to what regions could come out of darkness, and where the government's authority was threatened in my own land by a shiny Knighthood, which was obviously something much more than that below the surface. Somewhere to the West, M'Nahrahe was journeying back to the world I'd left, back to her mundane life, probably wondering whether she'd passed up death or riches.

I heard some humble moans from Ferrand back in teepee. Obviously we'd be staying in the care of this tribe at least until the afternoon.


	20. Death among new friends

A/N: Okay, I've had a nagging sensation these two chapters fall short of the usual par, but I can't keep going back to edit forever. Maybe it's just me. You decide.

Anyway, I'm enabling anonymous reviews now. Unless by some odd chance someone starts using anonymity to act like an idiot, I'll keep it that way.

Oh, and Pheonicia suggested I try to limit my use of first person references when I write (Is, mes, mys, etc.), so these next chapters should read a bit differently than the others. Tell me what you think.

UPDATE: Using some advice from nightdragon0, this chapter has undergone some minor revisions since its initial release. The ending of this chapter has been modified to better fit with **Fights**' characterization. I also noticed another error, where Cyrodiillic speech was bolded.

"The rest of the Argonians are primitive, reclusive, and practice heathen rituals of nature worship that necessitates a proximity to a certain type of spore-tree, which grows only in the interior of their native swamplands." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 3, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Black Marsh

* * *

As I walked towards the boiling pot of water, Densius was already waiting by it. If the tribals were curious about the bizarre needs of the humans, they kept quiet about it.

I was internally pacified given that this gave me something real to do for Ferrand, who'd been the subject of my worry all day. Most of the time, my actions seemed thin and weak, but he remained glued to my mind. I had been anguishing through most of this day, scraping for things to do for him, and giving him his second pot of water seemed like a substantial task this early evening.

Densius had stayed outside our tee-pee since this morning. Because getting near Ferrand would risk him for a similar fate, he could be a bit more resigned to Ferrand's suffering.

I stopped infront of the pot, queing Densius to cool it. He put his hand above the pot, then shot the spell into it.

The pot hissed violently as thick clouds of steam billowed from our pot's top.

I lifted it from its resting place above the fire, then turned and headed back towards our tee-pee where Ferrand had been suffering in all morning, seemingly getting worse by the hour.

The words from yesterday's argument before M'Nahrahe's departure rang in my head:

_"You don't think we could avoid lethal areas a little longer!?"_ She had spoken with an accusatory tone, as if she was trying to unwrap some kind of deceit. _"All I ask is that we spend a bit more time searching closer to the borders before we try to get ourselves killed!"_

_"The Elder Council said Ferrand could keep us safe."_

_"The Elder Council!? Densius, in all the time I've spent in the Blackwood Company I've never once heard that the art of the healer has undergone any major advances in the last few years!"_

Only the next day, Ferrand was his own slipping patient. Now, the day seemed to be passing so fast because I'd been so unproductive. Most of the day had been spent counting down the hours until I'd get another opportunity to help him somehow. And, oddest of all, sort of wished to share in some degree of his suffering; there was an odd guilt in being perfectly healthy when I could do so little.

The edge of Ferrand's body could be seen through the entrance flap. I thought maybe, once inside, it would be a good time to ask if he felt any better again.

I came through the flap, targeting the place to set down the pot, eyes to the ground by Ferrand.

I gentley set the iron down onto the soft ground, then lifted myself to look back at Ferrand. He gave me a feeble smile, mug already in hand. As he bent over the pot to scoop up the water I coordinated myself with the bedroll behind me and then lowered onto it.

Sitting with my tail extended behind, I awaited further instructions or at least an opportunity for conversation about his status. But he was still drinking. Given the smell of sweat in the air, it stood to reason he was rather dehydrated.

When he was done, he took a violent breath and wiped his mouth, then put the mug at his side again.

I finally asked the question that had held the purpose of today: "You feeling any better?" I tensed, awaiting to be released into despiar or elation. Even the slightest twitch for the better in his health would mean worlds to me right now.

Ferrand half-heartedly turned his gaze to me, then, still silent, wiped his brow. Then he looked back towards his legs, his movements still murky, before saying "Soch-Eena, I don't believe I'm the healer the Elder Council made me out to be." It was without a glimmer of hope or humor. I sunk.

This time he turned to look me in the eyes "I've tried everything I can think of, but this disease seems to be something I am unable to combat. I don't know that we will ever get this disease to loosen its grip."

The words sucked the hope out of the situation. When _he_ stopped seeing glimmers, the situation was surely just as grim as it appeared. I felt tiny now, and utterly anchored to the ugly reality here.

Then there was a scream outside, quickly followed by frantic chatter from the tribals. There was a metallic tingling in my face before I got up and opened the flap to see what was going on.

There were many tribals scampering away from the center of their encampment, carrying infants and holding the hands of children. Dagger unsheathed, I stepped out and turned Eastward. One tribal was already dead. Only several were standing their ground, the armed ones, who were all facing Eastward. I began to feel my own flesh vulnerability out in the opened like this, though I couldn't see what the danger was.

One of the armed tribals infront of me dived sideways into the ground and I soon saw a red, misty projectile flying towards me. I jumped to the side and its surreal roar passed me.

I felt shaken at thought of what could have happen if I'd dodged a second later. We were under attack. Our allies were hurling their spears in the direction of whoever the enemy was, and even Densius had pressed himself against ahead tree, leaning out to cast his destruction magic into the distant greenery.

This wasn't the kind of situation I was trained for. I glanced frantically for some kind of cover of my own at least to regroup. There was a tree in the far corner of my view range which was unoccupied and thick enough for good cover. I began sprinting towards it. I could hear magicka flying and children starting to cry back in the encampment as I pushed myself to the limits. But I felt so oppressively slow knowing every grueling second was pushing the threshold of death. Trying to squeeze all the speed out of my legs, so much that carried the name of death was flying through the area. There was another cry of pain. I was counting down the seconds until I would have the sweet relief of temporary safety. One more second. I began to slow to a stop, but ended up hugging the tree when I lightly crashed into it. I was about in line with the warriors defending this area.

My heart pounding against the tree, I knew I might have a duty to put myself back into that exchange of projectiles as to help our welcomers with this battle. Random pepperings of spite were common between tribes, so this was almost definitely not an invasion, but I could still cut the casualties. I leaned out to assess the situation.

I saw three of our own tribals were charging towards a dagger wielding enemy who'd managed to get rather close. A dagger seemed like a rather pathetic weapon against spear wielders, but the enemy seemed unintimidated. Then, as they were about to impale him in their charge, he jumped clear over their heads. As he was in the air, I noticed the odd appearance of his legs, they looked almost like those of a frog. As the spearmen became prey to their own inertia, trying to slow and turn around, the leaping tribal had landed. The bizarre Argonian managed to stab one of his enemies in the back as he was trying twist himself against his own momentum. He jumped yet again before the remaining two could thrust their spears into his torso. As he was in the air, one of the friendlies tried to chuck his spear at the leaper. It flew too far to the left and landed very close to the enemy. The freakish tribal picked up the spear and threw it, nailing the original thrower in the back as he tried to retreat. But as I shifted my gaze back to the enemy, I noticed the last of the three friendlies had taken advantage of the foreigner's concentration to kill _him_.

The surreal sight had been mesmerizing, but I realized how long I'd kept my head out without actually doing anything. There were still hostile tribals in the distance, even if I couldn't see them. I violently pulled my head back, reflecting on all the things that could have collided with it, grateful for still being alive.

I had to do something, or lives might be lost because of my meekness. I couldn't charge them; just thinking about that brought the image of the tip of a destruction spell or the feeling of a spear to the gut. But this place was saturated with concealment. Flanking them would be easy.

I crouched and then laid flat against the ground. Now in the company of the roots, dirt, and twigs, I began crawling my way to the enemy. I continued to hear the lethal violence raging above me, but this was my little world down here. My arms were digging into the mud as I crawled, witnessing an angle of the world I hadn't seen in quite sometime, smearing my clothing with in a situation where the conventional boundaries disappeared.

I just tried to get closer to the noise.

Crawling in this quaint little tunnel of nature, the image of that leaping tribal was stuck in my head. The look of his legs made it seem as if his very being was made for that sort of fighting. Part of me still insisted my eyes had deceived me, that there was an unidentifiable air of fakeness to it. But the shadow of mystery it cast over my time here meant it wouldn't be discarded from thought.

There weren't many yells of pain anymore, but I could still hear the flying of destruction spells and spears.

It was starting to sound like I was close to one of the enemy spell casters. I knew, once I was a bit closer, the hostile would be able to see me even through the shrubbery. To emerge from this shrubbery undetected would probably require use of the Shadow power. _Shadow power, _it had been well over a week since I'd last used it. The idea of breaking the pattern in a combat situation was a little unnerving. Still, I would wait until I could see a bit of the caster.

It felt like I'd crossed an undeclared line into enemy territory, so I was extra wary of the noise I made. I was gazing ahead for boby parts I might be able to see from under the shrubbery; those would be my cue to push out the Shadow energy and make the stab. I was back into my life as a trickster as I crawled towards some oblivious enemy, orchestrating a quiet kill.

Feet could be distinctly made out ahead. I was only about three yards from my target, whom a casting sound radiating from.

I pushed the Shadow energy to the surface of my skin, which felt indefinably odd, as if I wasn't exactly connected to it as in previous weeks. None the less, it worked just as well in practice as I could remember, so I was invisible. I adjusted the energy to my form a bit. The end of my dagger was still not invisible, as was expected, but it needed only be tucked close to my side to make it so.

I slowly and delicately got myself up, first pushing my hands against the soft earth, then getting on one knee, tucking my dagger to the side, then gentely standing. The tribal was facing a target behind and to the left of me; her scales were an odd color, a brownish-green that seemed to blend very well with the environment. She was in another world as she rythmically leaned out from behind her tree to cast magic with a trans-like stare of glassy eyed-focus.

I wasn't in stabbing range yet, and, being so close, had to handle my steps carefully. Watching my feet, I began moving, trying not to brush a leaf or snap a twig. I spotted a small area of nothing but soft earth and arched my leg to it. Heart pounding and breaths shallow, I arched my other leg, once again to a place of unobtrusive impact. But I'd heard the subtle sound of the fabric of my pants rubbing against my scales. However, it appeared she did not. I took another step, now only a couple of steps away from her, foot once again sinking into the soft earth soundlessly. I located another patch of clear dirt to step on. Another step taken. There was an odd sensation in my arm because with the next step would come the thrust of my dagger. I took that last step.

She whipped her head towards my direction, as they often did, but it was too late; she was met with a hearty stab into her chest, the shadow energy dissipating with my abrupt movement. She cried out in pain as I withdrew the dagger, which was now shining like a ruby. It all felt slightly unpleasant, not satisfying, likely because it had been so long since I'd done that. She clutched her chest and staggered about before falling to the ground. As blood defiantly poured from under her hands, her body surrendered and she was caught in her last stare.

Given the Shadow power could only be used once a day, attempting to make a second stealthy kill was futile.

I stayed behind the tree, listening to the sounds of battle. This time, there was drastically less casting to be heard...infact, it sounded as if there was only one hostile battlemage left. And judging by the russeling I heard, it sounded like the friendly tribe might have been making a charge for that last enemy.

The scream somewhat in the distance indicated they got him.

Then only some indecipherable talk from the tribals, combined with the chirps of insects and birds, ocuppied the air, which now held the same emptiness as the dead this engagement had left behind. The battle was over, but I was still somewhat in combat mode. Something inside me had been released that wouldn't end immediately after the battle.

Slowly, more sobs started to form in the encampment's direction. Being involved so directly in one of these put a sharp lump in my throat. I knew I'd probably caused many incidents like this as a Shadowscale.

The violent battlefield would be changed to a medium for mourning and grief, and I would only a see a blip of the ripple-effect I'd come to realize from Bellamont's diary here. I already wondered what casualties this morbid surprise had brought.

I gentely came out from behind the tree to head back towards the encampment, not sure what to do once there. Turning my head to where I'd witnessed that jumping enemy, I saw some tribals crouching, looking down, probably checking the casualties for any sign of life, or maybe looking at the freak's body with fascination. In their proximity was Densius. He was now looking at me, wide-eyed and wide-mouthed, blood on his sword.

"Who were those guys!? Did you see that one jump!?" He asked. I couldn't answer, as I wasn't familiar with political scape of the inner-swamps.

"That's not clear to me either, maybe I'll see if I can get some details from the locals." I responded, knowing how important that could be given we'd be heading in the direction that tribe came from to get to Helstrom.

But the locals still seemed to be examining the aftermath.

With the crying in the background, I consciously tried to suppress the contagious weeping that was seeping into me. I was afraid to ask the tribals about our attackers, because that might take away from the concentration that was suppressing my tears.

When the obtrustive lump in my throat started to fade, a few seconds of numbness, it seemed a good time to push out the words:

**"Who was behind this attack?"** They cracked through the grim atmosphere. My mind immediately rushed over them. Was it too abrupt and callous?

But one of the warriors turned to me and said "**The Water-Neighbords, seeks they to destroy the blesseds, also coherence the Hist into imbuing theirs bodies with gifts.**"

_Destroy the blessed_? Was our group's arrival responsible for this? The ominous shadow of guilt started to loom over my mind. Would this moment be imprinted into that hideous archive of memories so that it might come back and shoot bolts of guilt through me again? "**Did they know we were here**?" I feared his answer.

"**Know I not. They attack us by seemingish randoms intervals, but**." He responded. That liberated me. A clear conscious was something I should have learned never to take for granted.

I thought about asking what coercing the Hist meant, but then remembered our welcome here depended on them seeing us as 'the blessed', so I'd do well to look savvy of their religion. Still, wonder of what the Hist was capable of, this odd new dimension of Argonia, filled me.

I looked back at Densius **"**Just an enemy tribe. He said something about using the Hist to imbue their bodies with special abilities.**"** But I wondered what he might think of the odd words that came out of my mouth.

Still, he just gave a foggy nod and continued to survey the scene with an expression of soft shock.

It seemed the dead were mostly soldiers, so it was safe to assume pretty much all of those who had scrambled behind trees had survived.

Thinking about the survivors reminded me of Ferrand. He almost definitely wasn't harmed in the battle, but he must have had no idea what had happened. I began heading towards his direction.

As I walked, the image of that jumping tribal came back. There was a mental pull to go back and look at his corpse, to really take time to examine and press his odd physiology into my mind. He was one of three odd tribals I'd seen here; obviously there was something mysterious, powerful, but invisible that made the inner swamps different. Even in my home province, it felt like I'd been cast into a whole new world, forced to make a new life with new emotions, looking into the mysterious horizon ahead.

I caught a glimpse of a dead man lying on his back, a death that would no doubt be anguished over for months by these tribals, while we could only witness a blip of their suffering.

No doubt the rest of the evening would be radically different outside Ferrand's tee-pee, but he was still suffering from the same problem this ugly evening.

Close to his tee-pee, I prepared what to say. _"There was a tribal attack outside but we manage to fend them off. You need anything?" _I stored the words on the tip of my tongue.

I came through the entrance flap. Ferrand was lying on his back, still glistening with sweat, eyes closed but obviously still awake as he bit his lip. I then said the words prepared outside: "There was a tribal attack outside but we managed to fend them off. You need anything?"

Ferrand grimaced, as if pushing against some pain, before he spoke. "Soch-Eena, I don't think I can last much longer," He said, his words breathy. The shadow of death got stronger. "I don't know why the Elder Council sent me here. I've met healers superior to myself."

It was hard to keep hope when he talked like that. I became extra conscious of my blinking while trying to keep tears at bay. There was silence. I wondered why the Elder Council had sent us here. Of all the people in Cyrodiil, the mightiest power in Tamriel had picked us four? Now M'Nahrahe was starting to seem like the smart one. The fact that this rag-tag group was relied on to gather evidence to warrant an Imperial expedition felt so ridiculous now: _How could they expect to send a Legion expeditionary force when their choice of experts crumbles in the central swamp? _

But then a new thought came: _How would survival of four specialized expeditionaries foretell the survival of the run of the mill Legionaries coming to destroy the Argonian Royal Court? _If we were an exceptional crowd, then a Legion mission to Helstrom could still be suicide even if we came back alive.

_What if they knew we weren't experts? What if we're just a survivability test?_

That epiphany hit me hard. Had I just fallen into the service of other liars in my very first step in the overworld? It seemed the situation had indeed paralleled logic after all: the Elder Council had actually sent us on a logical but deceptive assignment, not a pathetically planned but genuine one. They had been operating on a higher level in their tall, stone palace, a mask for lies. And this was the consequential sink of their decision I was seeing first hand.

It was further humbling that Ferrand seemed to have caught onto it first when I was the one who'd been duped for the initial twenty years of life. Now, as the wind russelled the leaves and bugs chirped with cruel and dry indifference to this suffering, the liars were so far away. They were going about their own transactions cosily in their stone sanctuary, perhaps thinking about us coldly back in Cyrodiil, or perhaps planning for others to be morbidly sacrificed for their agendas behind a viel of mutual interest. With a few words or a few strokes of a pen, they could send people to once-in-a-life-time suffering and bizarre death. Ferrand's intense suffering was just the product of one more deceptive speech, one more scribble of a pen. We were an experiment.

Then I snapped back to the present. How long had Ferrand been silent? He was still lying down stagnant, eyes closed.

I asked "You're sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

No response. I waited in the silence. He remained still.

Was he dead?

I spoke again "Ferrand?"

Still nothing. Surely the words would have gotten through to him by now, unless that body was now a soulless bag of flesh.

It was time to check his pulse. With courage to disregard the tension's squeeze, I got down on one knee to see if his situation had finally sunk to the bottom. I put my fingers on his neck.

Nothing. I sunk even more.

I slowly stood up, my hands were quivering slightly. The sobs of the tribals and wind outside filled the vast and harsh world around me: Somewhere, on the other corner of Tamriel, sometime in the future, no doubt someone would be wailing over Ferrand's death. But they wouldn't be the first to hear the news. I could only wonder how Densius would react. Telling an Imperial Legionary, a member of my ex-arch enemies, as a friend sharing troubles, of such a sensitive concept as Ferrand's death filled me with strange, bitter-sweet, but ultimately uncomfortably powerful emotions. It was all so surreal.


	21. Forbidden mysteries

A/N: Like the last one, this chapter has undergone minor revision since its initial release due to nightdragon0's advice (the beginning now provides a smoother transition from the previous chapter).

"The Argonians in the interior swamps of Black Marsh were skittish and little wonder, as the contact they had with men from the outside was from the like of Bramman and other brigands. Imperial civilization was, to them, rape, pillage and slavery. As the Cyrodiils pushed deeper into their land, trying to settle it along the pirate routes, they encountered stronger and more violent resistance with each incursion. " - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 4, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Black Marsh

* * *

It had been quite a dilemma whether or not to stay with that tribe last night; I nearly decided to sacrifice sleep as to spend less time in this disease ridden marsh, but ultimately I stayed and went to bed to the sound of burial rituals, wondering if I'd wake up in physical pain. I wasn't sure whether I felt healthy this morning, I only knew I wasn't debilitated.

The tribe had offered some of their own to go with us before we left, but I'd refused; tag-alongs made it harder to keep cover.

It was now about twelve o'clock, but I wasn't at all hungry. Infact I felt something fowl in my stomach and a subtle headache. Sickness? The power of suggestion again? That was no doubt a powerful force when Ferrand had seen his last minutes only several miles behind us. A dead healer couldn't bode well for me; nothing but luck could get me out of here, challenging one of the most basic tenets of Third Era history: the impenetrability of the central Argonian swamps. But I'd already pledged myself to the Empire, I recalled solemnly.

His medical pouch was now at my side, but I was no healer: it just provided the means if I needed a morbid, last-ditch effort to save myself.

The tree trunks were in this area were thin, and the brown grass like cropped hair in this flat, drab hell. Ahead, there was some greenery on the forest floor. There were so few landmarks here; this vast death trip couldn't be easy to cover methodically, which might become necessity to find Helstrom.

There was a prick of itchiness on my right hand, and I quickly and vigorously scratched it against my pants.

Soch-Eena was walking beside me, but we hadn't spoken in quite some time; it was because it was hard to take social ques when death was still in the air, not because I was still cynical of her; my doubts about her honesty were gone. She'd been helpful and seemed genuinely shaken by Ferrand's death. Now the fact that she was a former agent of the enemy made her seem all the more appealing. I had an odd interest to hear of her experiences, espeically considering I now believed she really did destroy the Dark Brotherhood, as dreamy as those circumstances might seem. But with death in the air, it was hard to start a conversation.

I had even begun to question what my own death would be like, what there was to think and feel in the final moment and the state for the eternity afterwards. Death seemed a lot more intimidating when I was lingering in its likelihood.

It felt like we'd been in these swamps for so long; surreally, that day in the palace, the day I'd thrown myself in the service of the government's plan here, was crystal clear:

_"Corporal...I'm not going to lie to you. This assignment...journeying so deep into Black Marsh, is risky. But if you die, you die a martyr." _Now I really was at martyrdom's doorstep, nearly staring the epic mystery of death in the face.

_"We would like all of you to travel to and inspect that province as thoroughly as possible. Do all that is in your power to find proof of such an entity's existence." _Now it seemed like such a ridiculous expectation. I knew it would be miraculous if I didn't wither away here in the tauntingly empty swamps that so many saw but none could tell tales of. What I saw now were sights that so many wondered about, but almost definitely none would hear of.

_"We are well aware that Black Marsh is infamous for its diseases and poisons, so we trust Mr. Aumille's expertise to keep you in your best health. His records show he has never been to Black Marsh, but has been involved in many rugged assignments with our Legion."_ Now it looked like we'd just be one more failure here, one more niave expectation dissolved by reality, dieing with the story of these last few days. I'd fall from the edge of my world at an edge of the Empire's control.

My feet touched that greenery, that low-lieing shrubbery of tough, shiny leaves. The roots of the trees here reached into the ground like demonic tentacles. _They _could survive here, brashly indifferent to the cruelty that buried itself in me being in a province full of disease. That sense of disconnect, phoniness, in M'Nahrahe's words had actually covered foreshadowing:

_"All I ask is that we spend a bit more time searching closer to the borders before we try to get ourselves killed!"_

_"You can trust them if you want, but I'm not going march straight into the center of Black Marsh just because Chancellor Ocato thinks we can pull it off!"_

Then, ahead, I was starting to notice something in the distance: a thick tree in what appeared to be a thick river. The tree had rigid barricades around it like those of the first tribe we'd met. To see such a seemingly ridiculous idea here too was a strange, eye-catching clash that seemed to brashly defy common sense. What did that mean? At least two Argonians seemed to be lounging in proximity of the tree, leaning on the thin trunks of the trees on 'land' and chatting. From what I could see they were all holding spears. They seemed to be guarding something, the dammed tree most likely.

One of the Argonians turned to face us. His eyes locked on us, and I became extra self-conscious. Then another pair of eyes locked on us, and soon two others leaned in to get a closer look. One of them had an unusually long face, like that of his fellows I'd seen in Morrowind.

Soch-Eena yelled something to them.

Then the two men I could see fully grabbed their spears with both hands, as if poised to attack. Soch-Eena yelled something again, this time with a more frantic tone. I could see her arms waving out of the corner of my eyes.

Yet they continued to look ready to pounce. My muscles began to tighten. They continued to stare wordlessly.

Then I thought I could hear one of them speak, but too quietly for it to have been directed at us. Then one yelled and raised his spear. The others shortly followed suit. A welcome of impassioned reverence, or a declaration of brutal hostility?

They began charging, the spear tips staring at us. The latter guess was correct.

These initial seconds were precious time for me, as those Argonians were currently nothing more than impotent targets. But I knew once they were in range to impale me, I wouldn't seem so mighty.

I pushed magicka into my hand and processed it. I thrust the spell into the air ahead of the charging tribals. The icy projection flew through the swampy air before contacting the chest of a tribal, who let out a blood-curtling scream, clutched his chest and fell to his knees, giving me an instant of satisfaction for taking down one member of their force. But the other three were close. I could already imagine how their stone points would feel in my flesh.

Thank the Nine a place like this was full of ambient magical energy, since this battle would otherwise have its outcome by a narrow margin. One of the hostiles, the long-faced who'd made his way to the front, wasn't even carrying a spear; instead he appeared to have unnaturally long and hearty claws, like those of a hackwing. With this province seeming more freaky by the hour, it hurt me to know I'd almost definitely never go back to the shallow, cozy, simple life I once knew.

Having taken in a sufficient amount of magicka, I aimed it between the two closest tribals and thrust out another attack. The taloned tribal dived out of the way with no cry of pain, but he was on the ground, loosening the grip of danger on me as Argonian next to him continued charging. The third Argonian seemed to be targeting Soch-Eena, so now it was one on one. If made quick work of him, I could make quick work of the next. If not, my abilities would be stretched rather thin.

Knowing I couldn't recharge my stores of magicka in time for another attack, I whipped out my sword, and in one blur awkwardly twisted my arm to cut off the head of the spear; slightly painful but nonetheless effective, the wood looked pathetic against metal. The spear-head went spinning off in another direction, saving me from a nasty piece of the battle. The tribal looked stunned and back-pedaled a step before tripping over a root. I fluently advanced and drove my sword into his chest, terminally cancelling his attempt to get to get up, smothering his last moments with my superiority.

Withdrawing the sword and looking up again, I found myself face to face with a narrowly missing swipe from the thick and weighty talons of the unarmed tribal. The unpleasant startle sent a strange pulse of blunt sensation through my head. I back-pedaled and put my sword back infront of me to re-establish the deadly buffer between us. We stared at eachother, poised in an arbitrary battle of free will and chance to see who would step forward first.

But I had the longer weapon_. _That was the catalystic bump in my mind. I charged forwards with the kind of ruthless, blunt brutality born in combat, slashing the air with all my mite. In his last second, he put his hands meaninglessly infront of his face as if to add the last available grain of probability to his survival. But even that was irrelevant, as my sword sliced his stomach, causing him to pathetically jerk and stagger backwards. I took the opportunity to lean ahead in a shallow stab, pummeling everything possible out of the brief moment of vulnerability, quickening the inevitable death. He staggered to the side, a look of shock, to fall into his final rest.

But there had been four tribals, I had only killed three. Feeling the vulnerability on my arm left, I turned ready.

But I saw the last tribal was already dead. Soch-Eena had killed him.

However, she wasn't looking at them, she was looking at me with a stunned expression.

"Eeka Shash! Your face!"

Whatever could she be talking about!? For some reason her manner seemed degrading and brought a spurt of anger. But I noticed her hand was quivering above her cheek as she gaped. I touched my own cheek with my hand, and felt nothing abnormal. Then I brought it back, only to see it was then almost perfectly red.

That taloned tribal hadn't missed. I felt a mockingly dull ache as I thought of what havoc had happened to the area. I held my hand quivering, starting to feel light-headed.

Then there was a sudden sharp grunt from Soch-Eena. An alarm went off in me and I whipped my head up to see she had a dart in her neck. The attacking situation was drowning us. She brought her hand towards the dart and with mellow movements in powerful morbid and fearful curiosity, she wrapped her fingers around it. I turned towards the direction it had come from, intent to find cover behind a tree, assuming she'd follow.

Then with a blur something hit my neck hard. I didn't need to touch it to know what it was.

There was so much ominous wonder rushing through my mind. _Why!? What were the odds right after we'd killed all those tribals!?_ Was this how I would die, left with hellish confusion in this nightmare away from civilization!?

But I had to find a potion to cure the poison fast.

I saw a reasonably thick tree close by, which I bolted to for cover. The shooter still appeared nowhere in sight, though.

Once I got to the tree and pressed my back against it, I viciously tried to find at least one 'cure posion' potion from Ferrand's pouch: _General Healing. General Disinfectant. General Disinfectant. _

I heard Soch-Eena moving now, but it sounded like staggering. I looked over at her and saw she was squinty eyed, supporting herself with a tree, then finally falling onto her side opposite the dart.

The effects seemed to indicate these were tranquilizers, but knowing the kind of people this deep in the swamp, I couldn't imagine any reason for them to take us alive besides some sort of torturous 'sacrifice'. My odds were low as the combined effects of the claw slash and the drugs drained my life away, but I had to give all of my being for what little chance there was for freedom. I continued shuffling through the bag, but I could feel my thoughts start to drift as did. Everything seemed meld together, flowing light and free. My head was swimming.

I kept shuffling through the bag, yet that now seemed to take a lot of willpower, like I was sinking into some sort of apathy.

Everything physical felt so heavy. Consciousness was fading. Control was seeping away. The world even looked darker. And then even my body felt like too much to handle.

Then I forgot what I had been so worried about, and why I'd let it stand in the way of my sleep.

Then something had changed, something for the better, but there were still so many voids in my mind, with their emotions, like disturbance and fear, still hovering above with no memory or logic to support them. The structure of the world still seemed like a warped mystery to me: what was up, forward, left, right? Then it became clear, I was lying down on my right side. I remembered gravity, and the world's structure came back. But the surface was new, better. I was staring at a wooden wall in a world that was dark and hazy through my eye-lashes. I was covered. I was in a bed.

It had been a nightmare. There was a fantastic rising sensation in me! My body was intact and my life was still comfortable and ordinary! Now I just had to figure out where I'd left off in reality.

Where was this? This was not my house, not the Imperial City barracks, not Fort Moonmoth, and not the encampment. Suddenly, I sunk a little from my previous elation. Was it really a nightmare? I put my hand on the area I'd had the cut. There was a subtle, rough ridge I could trace from the corner of my mouth to half way across my cheek. I also noticed I was still in my armor.

No, it had been real; I was safe, but the events of the "nightmare" had still left their ugly mark. The boost in my mood came down to an unremarkable state. The previous elation was converted into all sorts of questions. Where was I? What time was it? Who would want to take me in like this? I rolled my head over to the ceiling. There was a chandelier, and something anamolous out of the left corner of my eye. I turned my head more to see an Argonian woman in a chair watching over me, clad in dark green robes. My mind rushed for something to be embarrassed about, but thankfully came up with nothing.

Then it hit me I must have been with the Argonian Royal Court. The very same organization it seemed so unlikely to find had found _me_, and brought me right into the tiny spot of Black Marsh they occupied. I was now like a child in their presence, vulnerable yet cared for. That felt sharply strange.

"Where am I?" There were no windows in sight.

She responded in heavily accented Cyrodiillic "You are in the protection of my employers. You would have been dead if were not for us. The tribe you encountered had bad experience with foreigners."

My mind wasn't the most fertile ground for thought at the moment, so I didn't feel so much confused as mush-brained, but I asked. "Wait, but how did you...how did you know to be there when we were attacked? Why tranquilize me before bringing me here?"

"We were watching the members of the tribe you encountered. I am sure you noticed the...anatomical oddity of some of theirs. We were intrigued by them for the same reason we were intrigued by you: you both have gained some promising abilities from dabbling in the sap. That did not mean we could let you see the way to this compound."

The words seemed very out of place. "Dabbling in the sap?" Sap and abilities were hardly two things to associate, but the word "abilities" meant there was a new road of potential ahead, not the near-certain gloom I'd predicted before waking up.

"You know what I refer to." She said the blatant falsity in a smoldering tone. There was a small spurt of anger. I wondered if she'd seen me use destruction magic. The silence continued. "Did you think we would not notice the scales on your hand? Do you think we regularly find healthy soft-skins this deep into our swamp?" _Scales? The deformation..._The new mode of preceptions washed over, filling all the nooks and crannies of reality. Apparently some potential in this situation was not only right under my nose, it was now part of me. She continued "We saved your life and now you are in our confines. Tell us what you know about using the Hist sap."

I was really starting to chafe with this pushy attitude, given she was talking like I was holding back when infact I was very under-informed. Through the thick entanglement of bias I explored the possibility of justifying mouthing off, though my thoughts were slow and laborious:

_They saved my life._

_Only to get information I don't even have out of me. You're a soldier, don't take this._

_But it makes sense to think I know something about the sap._

_Does it, if I don't?_

No conclusion really felt satisfying as I dissected my own thoughts. She finally cut off the train "Just tell us what your experience with the Hist sap." Given it seemed she was previously insisting I knew something about how the Hist sap put scales on my arm or tied into my survival, that sounded like somewhat of a concession. Maybe that was her way of recanting her previous aggression. Now I could make a concession.

But, considering they were the enemy, was it right to be giving the information she demanded? My sense of time, will, and the consequence of decision grew. With every second of silence, her hostility would grow. Every second I had an opportunity to speak. The path chosen would lead to a colossally different outcome from the other. I could imagine the rotten shame in helping the enemy, but more over feared what they might do to motivate answers. Yet fear couldn't be my motivator. More silence. My mind was fairly monotone, grogginess suppressing my thoughts in a frustrating way, cutting down sprouting ideas, but I knew I had to push myself to think.

_Trust._ _The more they trust you, the easier they'll be to infiltrate and get that evidence of their existence. _Yes, that was my whimsical excuse to keep my stream of actions in sync with my emotion, even as I plotted beneath the surface. I spoke up, now with pleasure. "Okay, a tribe told me to put my hand in Hist sap as some sort of ritual of welcoming, so I did, and then the next morning I woke up with that def--" it felt odd to say "those scales on my hand."

"Your hand was the only one in the sap at the time?"

"Well, no. Someone else put my hand in there with his." Did they know the ritual?

She leaned closer, resting supporting herself with a hand on the bed. "And there are no other details you can give us?"

Did I remember anything more? It was hard to recall memories in this very blank state of consciousness. For half a second, there was a feeling some details with potential were just around the corner, then it was back to my drab mental state, drowsiness still squeezing my brain.

_What was I trying to recall, again?_ Then I remembered I was trying to recall that incident with the ritual. My mind was silent for a good deal longer. I felt so useless now. I briefly tried to push my mind into a fresher, more alert state, making sure drowsiness wasn't just an excuse. Still getting no new answers, I released it.

I decided to tell her I couldn't remember anything more, but before speaking a new recollection flew into me. "Oh yeah! I had a cut at the time...if that means anything; I scraped my palms earlier that day, and..." I pushed my groggy mind for anything else I could remember, going into an almost trans-like state, almost forgetting what I was trying to recall as I pushed. But my mind went flat again. Recalling these details seemed so laborsome. Her manner seemed to relax, causing her to lean back in her chair.

Why was I pushing so hard for the enemy? "That's all I can remember."

She leaned in like she had before, our pupils meeting. "Now tell me, what brought you this deep into the marsh?"

I was almost caught off guard, but then I remembered that was the question the Ocato had prepared me to answer. I spoke the long stored explanation. "We were adventuring."

The line prepared was now out into the air, finally freed from my chest to leave its deceptive mark on reality. Then I shifted to inter-changeable truths to sate other curiosities she probably had. "We thought we could make it because we...we had a healer with us who seemed confident, but one of our group members walked out on us and the healer himself died." The last few words hurt my throat.

"Then why did you make contact with a tribe?" A tone with a bit of force. I guessed I would be fairly irritated right now if not for my grogginess cutting down most of my cognitive processes

"That was because our camping equipment was destroyed by a hackwing, so we needed a safe place to stay."

She then took her pupils from mine and looked away pensively, but a confident sort of pensiveness. As she did, I wondered what kind of calculations were going through her mind. I knew I was waiting for a moment of truth that could set the tone for the rest of the time here.

She spoke again "I will check with the opinions of my superiors. They will decide exactly what we should do with you." She got up from the wicker chair she was sitting on, then noted "We have put food and drink on the table. It would be wise you to eat what we've provided, as it may be few hours before we can reach a conclusion." Then she began walking towards the door.

Plenty of quiet time was probably a good thing. With all these disorienting ups and downs and mysterious claims she made about "Hist sap", I had a lot to think over.

I could hear the door creak as she departed. She walked out and closed it. Then came the deep clicks of the lock. This was my own little sanctuary for now, a place where I could explore all the heavy thoughts.

I sat up, only to feel a spot of pain above and behind my eyes. I felt even groggier now.

The room was fairly bare and plain, with only a blunt table and chair next to it in addition the wicker one the woman had been sitting on. On the table was a bottle of beer, a bowl of some dark colored berries, and a potato. I'd probably skipped a meal, but on the other hand, my stomach felt a bit resentful with the tranquilizer still in my system.

I brought my arms out from under the covers. Something was off about them, though.

_The bracelet! _They'd taken it! They must have known what it was! I felt a sharp tingling in my face. Suddenly the room seemed a bit hotter. My mind suddenly became more fertile, the drowsiness loosening its grip, and thoughts coming at relatively remarkable speeds:

I had almost forgotten about it with all the hardships our trudging through the Argonian wilderness had brought. The fact that they knew I had something with me to manipulate them intensely embarrassed me. Would that make my mission somehow suspected? After all, what kind of adventurer carried a military strength "charm" enchantment?

Subtle waves of dread came over me as I sat frozen. I wracked my brain for some way it couldn't be as bad as it currently seemed.

None came. I just had to stew in thoughts of what the Argonian Royal Court would think after seeing it. The thoughts echoed, punishing me.

I stared at my hands as I waited out the power of the thoughts. My mind kept getting pulled to the time they'd taken the bracelet, even though I could only imagine how that played out. Right now the present and future felt shallow, like I was only half there.

Then another realization hit me: if we were in the Argonian Royal Court's captivity, might they recognize the defector I was working with? If I recalled correctly, she'd never been to Helstrom, but I wasn't sure. Now I felt a bit more wary about my captivity here, and a bit more onguard and curious about what was going on outside my walls. I thought to get up and see what bits I might be able to pick up by listening through the door, if any.

I threw my feet to the side and stood up. The headache restated its presence vehemently, and I closed my eyes and shot up my brow with the surge of pain behind my eyes. That "tranquilizing" had really left its mark.

When the pain in my head faded, I noticed there was a bit of pain in my feet. I was still a little stiff, but I lumbered my way to the door with small steps.

I pressed my ear against it...nothing. There didn't seem to be anything I could accomplish regarding the world outside this room.

Lifting my head, the headache surged again. I stood in silence briefly. At the very least, I felt the need to sit again.

I walked to the chair by the table, my head feeling like it could burst.

After I sat down, I grabbed the bottle of beer.

I opened the bottle, feeling its top against my scaly left palm. When even my body had been changed here, I knew life had become something extremely alien and murky. My previous life seemed tacky in comparison when even, right now, I could hardly process any of it; my mind didn't even seem to be turned on half my waking time. It was safe to assume that once the tranquilizers wore off fully, I would be doing a lot of reflection about where I was, and all those odd words I'd heard from that woman.


	22. Future at Argonian Mercy

A/N: Okay, I've gone over this chapter countless times for typos, but there always seemed to be one or two I missed, so I've decided to just settle for it as it is. I've got the same nagging sensation for this chapter I did with the last batch of chapters but, well, maybe I'm just paranoid.

UPDATE: I have recently made a revision to this chapter due to TheBlackJack's advice in his review.

"'But the deaths of our living ones was not nearly as horrible to us as the death of our trees. You must understand that to my people, the Hist are where we come from and where we are going." - The Seed

Sun's Dusk 4, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis):

* * *

As I lied in bed, I was physically stagnant, but my mind was racing with so much to think about, as it had for hours now.

_"I am sure you noticed the...anatomical oddity of some of theirs. We were intrigued by them for the same reason we were intrigued by you: you both have gained some promising abilities from dabbling in the sap." _The frog-like leaping tribal and goofily thick taloned one came back to my mind. It was still hard to wrap my mind around just how much I'd under-estimated the "adventure" that awaited me here. Now my life felt so different it was awing to think those memories from the beginning of this expedition were mine.

And, apparently, somehow the frog-legged tribal, clawed attacker, and I had all gained our diverse abilities from contact with the Hist sap. Clearly the Hist sap changed one's body. But how would the sap dictate the changes it did? If the Argonian Royal Court was so eager to learn how I changed my body, I must have unknowingly stumbled across a special procedure.

But why would a tree secrete something that morphed the body? A large portion of Black Marsh's mechanics were operating under my field of view.

As I stared at the wall, I started to idly caress my sand-paper cheek with my hand. Then came a bit of frustration and a slight feeling of helplessness in that, trying to think over these mysteries in a groggy state, it was easy to lose my train of thought.

For a few seconds, my mind was silent as I tried to remember my train of thought. Then I recalled it:

How could those trees cause all those different things? What was the power of that mockingly ordinary looking tree? What was I oblivious to? I felt a new sort of seriousness blanketing my life.

_"Did you think we would not notice the scales on your hand? Do you think we regularly find healthy soft-skins this deep into our swamp?"_

It hit me I was becoming like an Argonian in both my changes: my disease immunities and scales. But the woman implied it was also Hist sap which mutated those tribal Argonians to fit them with better legs for jumping or weighty talons.

These mysterious trees had taken on a life of their own to me.

_"Your hand was the only one in the sap at the time?"_

Having someone else's hand in there effected the process somehow. An Argonian man put his hand in with mine and now I was starting to become more like him.

It hit me how it worked: one took on traits of whomever he shared the sap with. That would mean the taloned tribal had somehow shared the sap with a creature which had such thick talons...like a hackwing! I was satisfied with the connection made, comforted somewhat to figure out a bit of the situation with good-old-fashion reason and feel a bit more dominant over it.

Though did that mean I was fated to become identical to that man? When the scales crawled their way up to my face, would the shape of my skull warp? Would my teeth sharpen? Would my pupils become vertical lines? Would it all happen in perfect harmony, or would there be a hideous transition fraught with aches and disabilities ahead? I could imagine such a transition would be extremely painful, the kind of pain that might make one consider suicide just to avoid going through it.

But the freak tribals obviously hadn't become animals. That would mean I wouldn't go through a _complete_ transformation. That lifted the aching in me.

Yet how did I know the Hist sap had finished with them? What if they were to _become_ creatures? I sunk again.

But even their effected areas, such as their legs or hands, still maintained something clearly Argonian. The hands of the taloned tribal didn't look exactly like those of a hackwing, so maybe one could only change so much. I rose again.

My mind shifted to a more optimistic note, and that was getting back to Ocato with the evidence. But I would have so much to explain when I came back scaley; I hadn't even begun to think of how to chisel this heap of experiences into words.

But, then again, it might have been too early to think about returning with evidence; I didn't even know what the Argonian Royal Court planned to do with me. I feared they might drag me out of here and make sure I was silent about this place with a blade to the throat; I hoped they didn't know I was a battle mage, as that would be an explosive advantage for my potential escape. I imagined letting loose a surprise frost attack, the would-be executioners letting go of me, screeching in pain, then me rushing through the unknown halls, Argonian faces flitting by as I tried to reach a door or large window to dissappear in the endless forest of thin trees, spending time in the woods until I could regroup and make another plan.

I'd been lying in bed awaiting their verdict for about three hours; the moment of truth was continually pushing its threshold. The fact that I could distract myself with thoughts of the immunities and the freak tribals was a blessing: those thoughts had managed to give me another path besides simply staring at the door, waiting for it to open.

Yet now there were some very muffled footsteps outside the room, or at least it seemed.

There was a deep clicking at the door, followed by an odd sensation in my temples.

Supporting myself with my hand, I looked up towards the door as it was opening. I fidgeted violently with the other.

When the door was fully opened, I saw the woman again, this time with Soch-Eena behind her. The interrogator's manner was confident, Soch-Eena following more meekly. With Soch-Eena alive, and no armaments or tough looking bodyguards in the immediate area, the tension lifted significantly. The end to this night would probably be peaceful.

When they were both close to my bed, the robed woman in the foreground, I squirmed my way into sitting up. Unfortunately, the headache returned.

"You will be happy to hear you have been approved to stay here by my superiors. You are welcome in any unrestricted area." And happy I was. I knew now I had a clean road full of opportunity ahead with her words, and these next few days would be relatively cushy and relaxing. But there had to be a catch.

"But I'm not welcome to leave?" I guessed.

"You would be unwise to do so." A sort of undertone of proud superiority in her voice "I assume you do not understand the way your developed immunities work."

"I _guess_ not." I replied, but I didn't know what I didn't know, and, sitting up, my intuition felt more blunted.

"An immunity does not repel a disease. The disease is inside your body as we speak. It can still spread and if you go back to your homeland will no doubt infect those around you. You would be responsible for many deaths." I felt my soul sink in a new found hollowness. It started to look like there was a solemn future again. "However, we have a cure, a substance that will purge your body of this disease, thus allowing you to travel back to your home." My spirit rose. "But as you may have expected you will have to work for it."

She started to pace to my right, but then turned and said "You and your friend should meet me for lunch, 12:00 o'clock tomorrow so we can discuss your work. You two will ask one of our's for direction to my office. Your equipment will be returned to you at that time." Yes, this was all working out well. My presence here seemed an almost whimsical affair now. That close call with being trapped here made me all the more appreciative.

Then her tone changed to something more business like, as if she was just trying to pass a stage of this conversation. "You may stay in your current room and are welcome to the palace luxuries but we did not plan this building to accomodate humans; our pants were designed for tails so you will have to fend for yourself in that area. We also ask you do not linger in our gardens and stay away from any room with guarded doors you are not specifically told to enter. That would be putting your nose in our business. I assume you will comply." Of course I wanted them to think I would, but the words made the 'gardens' and 'gaurded doors' sound all the more intriguing.

"Yeah," I said, but the word came out a little funny as I wondered if they would tell me who they were. After all, if they were really going to let me free, the last thing they'd want is an adventurer (which was how they saw me) spreading the claim of their existence. "...but do you mind telling me who exactly I am working for?"

"That is not something I am at liberty to discuss. Secrecy is our ally, and when you leave here you will be blindfolded and taken far from our sanctuary before we let you free." She said. That made their claim of letting me free sound more plausible, and that made me feel even better.

This gig seemed pretty sealed, but I had to wonder how much she suspected if she took the charm bracelet. That was still a stressor wrapping itself around me and preventing me from ambling through this.

But they'd taken my other equipment, so maybe they just wanted to be cautious. The epiphany loosened the remaining tension.

The woman turned and walked briskly to the doorway, adjusting the arm of her robe slightly. She disappeared around the right side, leaving it opened, a sign of new welcome.

I looked at my watch: it was nine o'clock. It was still so hard to believe this was the same day I'd been attacked by those tribals, such a notion was psychedelically disorienting.

I noticed Soch-Eena was still in the room. She was staring with a mellow trans off to the right for a while. Why was she lingering here? Then she, firmly but with a mellow expression, swerved her head to the left. She stared that way for a while. Then she turned her gaze straight, eyes firmly on me.

"How'd your interrogation go?" She asked, her words' unexpected loudness seemed to hit me inside given we were in enemy territory.

"Fine...I guess." My tone somewhat hushed, still very conscious of my volume. "But...she said some really weird things, like that I'd gotten 'abilities' from using Hist tree sap since coming here. She said something about how it ties into my survival here, that immunity she just talked about." The mysterious words were now out, enunciating the murkiness around of us. But letting them out brought a sense of connection between us. "Remember those weird looking tribals we saw? Like the one that jumped? Well, she said that had something to do with Hist sap too. She wanted to know what _I_ knew about the Hist sap, which was basically nothing."

"She asked me a similar question, what our dealings were with the Hist sap. She mentioned your immunities."

"I assume you told her the truth?" I said. That was probably a reason they interrogated us separately, to see if our tales would synchronize.

"Yeah."

Good, so far our cover wasn't blown. "How was _your_ interrogation? Did anything else interesting happen? Are you worried they might recognize you?"

"They wanted to know why we're here. I told them as I was instructed. Other than that there was nothing remarkable." She said drly.

"So they didn't recognize you?" I asked, though tensing a bit immediately afterwards: I must have come off as a bit thick for not getting that already.

"No."

I glanced towards the blanket as I thought of what else to say.

With our cover seemingly intact, there was a hearty sort of comfort in the situation. Right after nearly dieing, I was now in the Argonian Royal Court's palace itself, undercover and free to take my time to find evidence to bring back. "These assignments in exchange for that 'cure' give us a good excuse to stick around. Any idea how we'll begin our search for the evidence?" I noticed I was starting to feel a sense of harmony with her I had with my Legion buddies. Considering I was the one who'd arrested her, this was like something out of a dream.

"Not sure what the Elder Council expects as evidence..." Soch-Eena glanced to the side again as I stewed over my own words; I'd entered a strange new stage in life, one that wasn't so shallow and easy to forget or conquer as anything I'd faced before. She probably knew that feeling if she had really destroyed the Dark Brotherhood. "...don't you think it's odd that when even the Elder Council's 'team of experts' nearly perishes coming here, they'd expect the Legionaries who will come to destroy the Argonian Royal Court to survive?"

It seemed we weren't in as similar states of mind as I'd thought if this was the most prominent thing she was thinking about, but she had a point. Our group had seemed rather rag-tag from the beginning, very casually assembled considering the stakes and dangers that weighed on us: Black Marsh. "Well...yeah, I'm not sure what they were thinking. I guess they just really over estimated the power of modern medicine."

Then I realized, given modern medicine's failure, the Legion might never go into Argonia. This soured the mood a bit, taking away the hearty spirit of before.

But what if we could bring that cure the woman had mentioned back to the Legion? If we brought a sample to the Elder Council, would our troops soon be immune to Black Marsh's 'defenses'? That idea rejuvenated me a bit. But was the cure real? The idea that some tribe-sized Argonian break-away, kept alive only by secrecy, cut off from the world, would have capabilities beyond that of the Council of Healers seemed very far fetched. I decided to bring it up. "You know that cure she mentioned? Do you think that's real?"

There was a sharp pulse in my lower forehead.

"I don't know what to think about all this..." she said. I knew we had quite a world to wade through tomorrow.

"What about the nature of disease immunity? Do you think they made that up? Has anyone from the central swamps ever travelled to Cyrodiil, or outside the diseased area that you know of?"

"They didn't tell me much as a Shadowscale, only the things I needed to know. I guess we'll have to figure these things out now." There was still an overwhelming amount of unknowns, but if she was objectionably willing to carry through with this mission and thought these mysteries solvable, that made me feel all the more so.

This seemed like a good time to seal the conversation and go back into our own little worlds. "Guess so," is what I said as I lowered my head onto the pillow again.

She seemed to concur as I could hear her walking out. There was a funny sort of feeling clenching me at working so closely with a former Dark Sister. She closed the door.

There was definitely quite an adventure ahead of us, and many tests of slyness. Normally I just followed orders, making very small scale decisions, but this time the fate of the entirety of a province rested almost on our performances alone.

My disease immunities, the Argonian Royal Court, that disease cure, and an Imperial incursion into Black Marsh. There was so much racing through my head, but I knew with all I'd gone through I would fluently fall into a deep sleep and wake up in a deeper tomorrow.


	23. Quiet indoors

A/N: Due to TheBlackJack's advice, a minor revision has been made to this chapter.

"That he took the name 'Pelinal' was passing strange, no matter his later sobriquets, which were many. That was an Elvish name, and Pelinal was a scourge on that race, and not much given to irony. Pelinal was much too grim for that; even in youth he wore white hair, and trouble followed him. Perhaps his enemies named Pelinal of their own in their tongue, but that is doubtful, for it means 'glorious knight', and he was neither to them. Certainly, many others added to that name during his days in Tamriel: he was Pelinal the Whitestrake because of his left hand, made of a killing light; he was Pelinal the Bloody, for he drank it in victory; he was Pelinal Insurgent, because he gave the crusades a face; he was Pelinal In Triumph, as the words eventually became synonymous, and men-at-arms gave thanks to the Eight when they saw his banner coming through war; he was Pelinal the Blamer, for he was quick to admonish those allies of his that favored tactics that ran counter to his, that is, sword-theory; and he was Pelinal the Third, though whether this was because some said he was a god guiser, who had incarnated twice before already," -The Song of Pelinal, Volume 1.

Sun's Dusk 5, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Argonian Royal Court Palace

* * *

According to our discussion at breakfast, Soch-Eena would be "scouting" around right now, getting a feel for the mechanics of this palace and where its secrets might be stashed. The manner of my whole morning contrasted sharply with Soch-Eena's. I was at the easier end of our combined efforts. My morning was nothing but leisure time, getting an opportunity to stroll around this large building. I wasn't very aggressive with my touring, so I still wasn't sure about the function of many of the rooms, but I knew this building had all sorts of luxuries, and through the windows I could see some other smaller building outside. It wasn't clear how far this complex extended: I'd never dealt with anything like this bizarre "Argonian Royal Court" in my life. Was this palace like a piece of a small city? Or was this the whole royal dwelling, like the headquarters for a secret society? Or maybe thieves den for ill-gotten wealth was a more apt analogy. Like the Gold Cat's mansion, but maintained through a much larger collection of efforts.

It was odd to think the cushiest part of this assignment was occurring in enemy territory, but I didn't know whether to feel like a guest or a prisoner. Eitherway, I felt odd. But there was a certain thrill to infiltration.

Given that Argonian Royal Court wanted me to work for them, this mission might not remain a cakewalk, but the current circumstances were easy to appreciate after nearly dieing, even if a premature death still seemed very possible for me. Even now, sitting in silence, waiting for Soch-Eena to arrive so we could travel together to the woman's office, I was content, arms folded, practically laying diagonally in the sunlight through the window, passing time with casual amusements before the lunch meeting.

Soon I'd be working for the Argonian Royal Court; it wasn't clear what that entailed, but I didn't imagine the missions being anymore dangerous than what I'd already had to go through. And even if they were, it was harder to feel fear or doubt since being saved; my mind was working idealistically and fluently, a fiber of my spirit rather than an entity to grapple with.

It wasn't clear how long it would take to earn the cure, but I had been fantasizing about opening Black Marsh to the rest of the world by taking back enough of that cure to be researched. By taking back a small quantity of substance, it seemed likely it could be studied and replicated, and then it could fufill a major historical transformation eventually. With the cure available and slavery abolished, some group was bound to come to Black Marsh and lift the province out of darkness, possibly through some as mundane as commerce. Inevitably that would mean letting them take part in harmonious machines that kept the wheels of advancement turning and everyone building together towards a better life.

Plus, going back to Cyrodiil and then earning my reward money would be such a wonderful way to live out the rest of my life...but there was always the possibility of being trapped here. Did the Argonian Royal Court really have a cure, or was that a fabrication to motivate me to work for them? The circumstances here had to be better than what I'd expected after Ferrand died, but that didn't mean the reality of the cure wasn't a serious issue.

I felt the need for some activity a bit more inspirational. Maybe there was something decent to read...if any of the texts were in Cyrodiillic. Still sitting, I glanced around the library a bit. The shelves were tall and there were two people reading in chairs, one browsing the shelves, and one behind a desk. I glanced towards the table at my side, where I recalled there was a stack of papers in a tray.

On top of the stack was what appeared to be a newsletter with a large, pompous, Cyrodiillic title. A newsletter.

Grabbing it from the top of the stack I brought it straight into my view.

_CYRODIIL WEEKLY:_

_Additional Priory for the Knights of the Nine in Planning: Rumors Confirmed._

My old happiness started to melt away.

_By Ysabel Faustina_

_Knights of the Nine Knight Commander Sir Thedret told Cyrodiil Weekly on the 29th of Frost Fall that rumors of a second priory for the recently formed Knights of the Nine indeed speak truth; the construction of a second priory is being planned by the organization._

_"Our recruitment has simply been incredible since the Chapel Attack Crisis ended," Sir Thedret says "So many wish to join our cause. Our priory simply can't provide for that many people."_

_Indeed, since its founding just months ago, the Knights of the Nine has become the most famous Knighthood in Cyrodiil since its predecessor, which took the same name centuries ago. Credited largely with advancements in the reconstruction of Kvatch and decreased crime on the Gold Road, the Knights of the Nine's membership is extremely small compared its number of admirers. With many wealthy backers, the Knights of the Nine claims to operate solely on donation, though will not disclose the names of its financers. "That's what makes their contribution so truly pious." Sir Thedret says._

_"The new priory will be located in County Kvatch, not far from the main road...most likely, atleast. We're still trying to settle on an exact location." Sir Thedret told Cyrodiil Weekly._

_With the Kvatch city watch nearly wiped out by the horrific daedric attack on the city that first brought the Oblivion Crisis to public attention and took an estimated 30,000 lives in a single night, the Knights of the Nine has provided much of the security needed to rebuild Kvatch, though even Sir Thedret admits there is still much work to be done. "A priory in the area would make things much easier." He says._

_Not all are thrilled with the prospect of the expansion of the Knights of the Nine, which already has a priory near the border in County Skingrad. "The Knights of the Nine may help to clear away bandits on the path, but the number of murder cases in the area hasn't actually gone down." says Imperial Legion Sergeant Taran "We've found a lot of disturbing scenes in the woods just off the road; a lot of bodies that appeared to be killed in some form of execution, either hung or beheaded. The Knights of the Nine may help clear the paths, but it seems the badguys have just been doing their dirty work in the forest now." Later adding "They," referring to the Knights of the Nine "seem to operate as an extra-legal entity. I've never seen them actually turn a criminal or suspect into us. They may be operating as vigilantes which is never acceptable. Sometimes I wonder why the Elder Council hasn't done something about them."_

_The Knights of the Nine's leader, whose name has never been disclosed as anything other than "Lord Crusader", has been an aggressive critic of the Elder Council's current rule, in particular Head Chancellor Ocato, calling their rule "illegitimate" and "unholy". He, however, declined to be interveiwed for this issue._

Suddenly the silence seemed a bit more empty. Now my mind was stuck to that article. My spirit was still fresher than it had been over the past few days, but I felt some discouragement now.

The Knights of the Nine growing, gaining the sympathies of the people of Kvatch, caused a bit of my spirit to die. I recalled all the research I'd done on them after seeing one of theirs beating up a bandit on the path. It was their idolatry of Pelinal Whitestrake which was most ominous. He had been one of the heroes of the revolution, but also the warlord of the pogroms, and right now we didn't want either.

The disturbing "songs of Pelinal Whitestrake" came back to me, with the gorey, elf-blood soaked tales with strange phrasing that sounded like the product of a totally different society than ours, one in the darkness and raw, morally simplistic barbarism.

_"We've found a lot of disturbing scenes in the woods just off the road; a lot of bodies that appeared to be killed in some form of execution, either hung or beheaded."_

Those victims executed in the woods, had that been the work of those "Knights"? Had they been elves?

The silence continued. The article made me feel a bit more timid.

Doing anything else would feel artificial. I wouldn't get sucked into anything else. Now there was a craving for more information on this issue. I needed to find some words of encouragement buried in all the text I'd been provided. I craned my head over the stack to see if there were any other newsletters about them.

The newsletter now on the top of stack bore the words "The Fourth Era Pundit".

Like a play protagonist coming face to face with his arch enemy, the title seemed to stare at me hard. I turned my eyes from it, but mentally hovered over the decision to read it or not. That name was powerful to me. The articles could captivate my mind. Though the recent events had made my mind work so harmoniously it felt almost like I could control my emotions and keep my thoughts flowing and stable, I knew how these kind of texts could fill me with fury or disgust.

No, shunning the truth was a bad idea: a logical construct I'd calculated a while ago. Avoiding it meant being already submitted to the fact that the text was something to lament about, so I'd still have reason to feel down. Reading it had a chance to wash away the trace sick feeling the previous article gave me.

With two hands I switched the newsletter on the top of the stack, then looked down at this new article.

The Fourth Era Pundit:

_The 27th of Frost Fall was a grim day for the Skyrim village of Dunlain Falls, whose name may never again be written outside of historical texts. It is the latest victim in the recent spike of violence in the border regions of the province._

_The province of Skyrim is a province which was devastated by the Oblivion Crisis. Though sustaining much less damage than Morrowind or Cyrodiil, the destruction and halt in travel brought on by the Oblivion Crisis has had devastating effects on the province's agriculture and overall economy. This has rekindled the urge for violent rebellion in annexed territory, whose inhabitants wish to be reunited with the now drastically more prosperous provinces of High Rock or Hammerfell more than ever._

_The Skyrim Legion was called into the village after _

Footsteps were coming close to my right. I turned.

There was Soch-Eena staring dully.

I checked my watch; 11:53. Apparently that was late enough for her.

The encounter with The Fourth Era Pundit had been interrupted prematurely, leaving me with only dry words, a sticky hunger for more information, and a reminder of the fact that I'd enlisted to fight for the side of the Empire. That was my cause in life, the way I bumped the world closer to good.

Raising myself from the seat, I put the newsletter back on the stack.

"You ready?" She asked.

_"Our recruitment has simply been incredible since the Chapel Attack Crisis ended," Sir Thedret says_

"Sure." I replied, but it came out with an odd tone as I was mentally stuck in the thick of what the text said.

She glanced somewhere off to the left, then started walking in that direction. She was heading for the man reading in the chair.

As she began their Argonian conversation, my mind returned to the Knights of the Nine expanding. There was still that urge to find some words of hope.

I wanted to do more for Cyrodiil now, but I was powerless towards those issues here. Because of that, I wanted to speed up the process of my mission here in Black Marsh. Now I wished I could skip all liesure time, get the evidence and all the cure necessary, and get back home and be part of the Legion again.

"Follow me." She said, a startling reminder of my current circumstances, which were far from the Knights of the Nine and the rest of the Legion.

_The Knights of the Nine's membership is extremely small compared its number of admirers._

I'd have to make an effort to keep my mind somewhat pressed into the current situation as the words of the article echoed. Soch-Eena opened the nearest library door as I followed wordlessly, a storm inside my head.

We turned left and weaved and squirmed passed a few people in the narrow section of the hall. _I've never seen them actually turn a criminal or suspect into us. They may be operating outside the law, as vigilantes. _I probably was looking nearly brain-dead to the others, even as my mind was rushing. The news had such powers.

Then we turned right, presenting a hall, the left wall lined with doors. The target destination was not far off.

_"Sometimes I wonder why the Elder Council hasn't done something about them."_I'd heard why; Only an Emperor could disbanden a Knighthood. It was frustrating to know that the Elder Council's "illegitimate" rule couldn't remove Lord Crusader's power base precisely because they were unwilling to take over the roles reserved for the Emperor. Something fragile shook inside at the helpless injustice of that situation.

Soch-Eena opened the door, beginning a new chapter in my day. Now I'd have to be pried from the thoughts on the article. This meeting was about what I would do _today, _so it seemed logical to leave the thoughts of the world outside this marsh behind, even with my morale still dented.

Entering the office revealed a tapestry on the back wall and an elegantly assorted plate of all sorts of foods. There were two chairs infront of the desk. I targeted my seat. A lot of important information would soon be loaded onto us. I swung my way around and lowered onto the chair.

The woman who'd interrogated us yesterday was chewing on something.

The ominous text in the newsletter was fading into the back of my mind.

She swallowed and began. "Both of you courteously early." She mused with a sly smile "We were wise to think you would serve us well. Please, eat." She gestured towards an elegant structure that held the circles of all the small portions of food, from cheese slices to seasoned bread. Leaning in to pick out a slice of cheddar, my appetite returned somewhat. "I hope you are comfortable in our palace." I just nodded. "Good," The words assertively cutting through the air. I took another bite, thinking food was somewhat better when I wasn't _ravenously_ hungry. "Your current rooms will be yours for the remainder of your stay. Rooms thirty-nine and forty, if you recall."

As I finished the slice, she said. "I understand you still have much to learn about our palace. I should tell you are always welcome to attend meals in the dining hall by the throne room and the one to the West, but do not expect to use private service for your meals. Such privileges may come to you when you earn our appreciation." Her wording was a bit awkward, but I figured what she said would take meaning when dinner time came. Eitherway, the mention of dining increased my apetite once again, that empty feeling in the top of my belly. As Soch-Eena's hand went for another black berry I picked up another slice of cheese. I took a bite.

"I also feel I should further explain to you the...method of entry to some of our rooms. The spa and bathing halls can be reserved or occupied to full capacity, which is indicated by the wracks outside their door. If not one is empty, you will not be able to enter." I did recall wondering what those structures were for. "We similarly plan your ability to make reservations as a reward for service to us."

I finished that slice of cheese and then began to scan the plate for a different food. I sighted some purple grapes and worked to detach several from their stems, albeit with unintentional awkward crudeness. The woman behind the desk began chewing on something again. I popped a grape in my mouth, perfectly firm and sweet.

There was silence until she swallowed, then she shifted her gaze into mine. "Incase you two get separated, it would be good for you to know our library head speaks Cyrodiillic. He has spent much time here and can help you find your way around the palace and tell you anything important I have forgot to mention."

With my grapes done, she said. "Now, I was never told either of your names and you were not told mine, correct? I am Sudeeda-Atiuz."

"I'm Densius Fidelis." My tone business-like.

"S..." Soch-Eena stopped herself. Her internal struggle could be heard pressing on her tongue. She was obviously arousing suspicion by trying to avoid just that. I heavily anticipated what she'd end up referring to herself as, but hoped she did it quickly. My appetite faded. My stomach felt tighter.

"Soch-Eena." She said in sort of a drawn out, awkward manner. All that delay was for nothing. I didn't dare look over, but, watching the blurry crimson scales on her face from the corner of my eyes, my mental focus smothered her, mind racing. Would they recognize that name? Would her reluctance to mention it hint we were up to something?

"Densius Fidelis and Soch-Eena: Now is the time to pay your dues to us. We concluded the mission we want you two to undertake." I had no idea what to expect. "Our interest is in the Hist trees, the trees we know you have encountered." The Hist again, my past was once again tapping me on the shoulder. "We would have you complete a task involving them."

She then grabbed a slice of some green fruit with her left hand and took a bite of it, then shifted her eyes and head down gently and pulled opened a drawer in her desk, removing a piece of paper with an intricate tree drawn on it, sliding it across the table a bit with her long-nailed fingers. It was closer to me, but I could see Soch-Eena craning her neck to get a look from the far-reaches of view. As I looked down at the thick tree, she explained "We believe this is the base-form of the Hist." _Base-form?_ That unknown word knocked my mind off the conversation. "With that in mind you should remember that the tree is likely to change itself in a way that will blend with the plants around it."She finished off the piece of fruit in her hand with another bite.

"Base-form?" I asked. She was chewing. The silence was empty as I awaited the answer.

But it occurred to me that, seeing as we were already getting down to the pragmatic core of our mission, it was probably good judgement to speed up eating. I leaned in to grab another slice of cheese.

As I ate I looked down at the drawing again. There was something else drawn on the left side of the paper that looked like a spore.

She swallowed, then she spoke with a subtle sigh mixed in her voice "I suppose this information is important to your mission: the Hist are known for taking traits from nearby plants and can become hard to identify. It would be incorrect to even say all Hist are trees; they are only distinguished by their sap. We believe the picture you see a...to be an...estimation of the form which all Hist changed from, but with the Hist's changes passed down in its offspring we have no way of knowing." So the Hist had been changing since the beginning of time; that seemed an awe-inspiring concept, especially when they believed they could project what the originals looked like. The drawing did look a bit like the tree that ritual was done with, but the tree in picture was shorter and its trunk was looked thicker than the one in the ritual, and the leaves a bit different.

The Hist could change itself, did that have something to do with how it had changed me?

Then with regained enthusiasm she solidly said "Your mission will be to gather at least three Hist spores from the forests outside our territory and bring them back to me. Put them in the mail slot by this office. You may have already realized the trees often dwell in rivers, but the Hist are known for their exceptions. If you can retrieve the seeds of any plant secreting the distinctive-looking yellow sap, you will have accomplished your mission. But be wary not to touch that sap during the retrieval." Hist sap, harmful? And I'd already gotten some on me. The scales started feeling a bit more unnatural and unhealthy.

She pushed the picture towards me a bit more. "Please, take this paper with you." She said. I grabbed it but decided not to crumple it and put it in my pocket. For now it was treated delicately. Then she added, her gaze clearly on me "Remember that the local tribes are generally hostile to humans. It would be wise of _you_ to find a Hist tree that has not yet caught their attention." I felt bit of uneasiness as the memory of the tribe which almost killed me came back. Though my appetite weakened, I went for another slice of cheese; so far, this had been a pretty light lunch, too light for such a hardy task.

Her eyes shifted a little towards Soch-Eena. "You, on the other hand, may be better off to find a Hist worshipping tribe nearby. They are less likely to be hostile to you. Considering this we would appreciate it if you learn what you can about their rituals. If your information proves useful it will bring both of you closer to your freedom, or lengthen your welcome to the luxuries of our palace, if you wish to stay." Wish to stay? Were there hidden motives behind those words? Were they trying to ease their way into keeping us here, to eliminate the risk we would tell the outside world about this secret building? My eyes darted back to my leg as I very consciously put the rest of the cheese in my hand into my mouth, my throat now tighter and more reluctant to accept food.

"You should begin your search along the deltas jutting from this lake, or up the river this palace resides over. I can tell you the closest tribe is South and slightly East of this palace, approximately a two hour and a half walk from here." I swallowed.

"Your equipment, along with two bottles of potion to increase your running speed should you need to retreat from a tribe, is in the chest to your left. I have also provided you with a pouch of metal daggers, which the tribals will find most intriguing, so you may use to gain their trust. You may take what you would like for your mission." Getting to try out a 'fortify speed' potion would surely be quite an interesting, thrilling new experience under more controlled circumstances, but I could imagine serious danger tripping and falling on a root here in the swamps.

I turned my head to the left, then pushed my eyes that way until I was gazing through border of my semi-transparent nose but couldn't see it. Apparently, I would have to get up and turned around to do so. Still, it seemed the woman had more to say, so I looked back at her. "You may be out past dinner so you can request some food from the kitchen for your journey. We do not expect you back until your mission is complete." She grabbed another slice of fruit.

Her eyes casually shifted around below her as she chewed for a little while, silence in the room. This seemed an acceptable time to seal the conversation, a door to the task that would define the rest of the day, the end of our briefing and beginning of our work.

I sealed the conversation with "Okay, we'll get to work on that."

Gently lifting myself from the chair, it was unclear if she'd say something more, but she didn't. With only soft and subtle noises in the room, I turned towards the chest and stepped towards it, Soch-Eena behind me.

Lifting the top revealed the medical pouch slumping unelegantly into itself. _Ferrand; _I froze for a second.

But, being in the midst of a social situation, I quickly got back into my original flow of thought. The potions were standing upright, and the sword and dagger resting. Holding the chest opened with my left hand, I grabbed one of the potion bottles with my right hand, then managed to jam it in my pocket, tight against my leg. Then I got my sword.

But some item was missing, casting an ominous shadow over the present...

The bracelet! A fuzzy sensation surged in my head. They must have known my intention to manipulate them if they kept it. What would they think of us now, especially after Soch-Eena hesitated to give out her name? My heart rate increased.

Inadvertently, I'd politely kept the chest opened as Soch-Eena bent down to remove the dagger with her right hand, then, with her left hand, stuffed the potion in the medical bag which she proceeded to pick up. Then she stood up straight. Appearantly she didn't want the bag daggers, and trying to gain any tribe's trust when they were so anti-human seemed too risky for me.

I gently lowered my hand. With the thought of the bracelet probably on the Argonian Royal Court's mind, and the implicit culpability it gave me, my arm-pits felt like furnaces.

Once the lid was set down with a timid wooden collision, I began heading out the door, mind still on what they must have been thinking of me, rushing with thoughts of the woman consulting with one of her superiors, holding up the bracelet and telling of her suspicions.

Once we were in the hall, I heard Soch-Eena close the door behind us.

Did Sudeeda know I was a spy? What if they wanted to keep us busy so they could investigate us, then plunge blades into our backs when we were offguard?

"I'm used to working alone, lets split up." Soch-Eena said.

"What?" Mind just getting yanked back into the hall.

"I said we should split up."

It took me a second to remember what that was referring to:

We were gathering Hist seeds, and we'd both probably get very different reactions from the tribes, and therefore we'd have opposite better ways of dealing with this, so it would be hard to work side-by-side.

"So I guess we each just gather as many Hist seeds as we can find?" I should have said we 'each try to find three', but now the clumsy words were out.

"Guess so." She replied dryly, probably taking my meaning. She began walking, and I followed mechanically, my mind just barely in the same world as my body. The ominous sign of the missing bracelet was a hard thought to detach from. If the enemy was secretly suspicious of us, it seemed like something I should bring up to Soch-Eena. Would they be eavesdropping on our conversations? Might some hear us unintentionally through the walls, or see us whispering when they passed by? Maybe the outdoors was the only place we could talk without worry of incrimination. I had to keep my words inside until then. Even a whisper that we needed to talk would seem so loud now. Hopefully we wouldn't split up immediately after exiting the palace.

Soch-Eena was oblivious to all this drama, because she was pleasantly unaware of the enchantment on the bracelet. Should she know about it? That could severe the trust between us.

As that question hit, it knocked me down into deeper recesses of my mind. It was another major question, taking me even farther from stable, normal, fluent existence. It was another murky area of I'd have to find my way through. Either choice could have deeply grievous consequences for the mission.


	24. Mysterious governments

"Black Marsh never regained its Provincial status after the dissolution of the Second Empire, though some parts of it are still considered Imperial territories. In CE560, the Knahaten Flu spread through greater Argonia, claiming the lives of the Kothringi tribesmen, the only humans to have persisted in the area for long. The hist proved immune to the effects of this plague, leading to wild rumors that they had, in fact, created it through a manipulation of their cherished spore-trees." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 5, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): South East of the palace, Black Marsh

* * *

The bizzarre sights at the palace this morning continued to replay in my mind. I saw why they didn't want us to linger in the garden, or thought I did. There was something weird going on with the Hist trees. They were stuck full of tubing as if the Argonian Royal Court wanted to suck everything out of them with some bizarre machinery. The area around them was saturated with strange devices, and tubing ran form the tree to somewhere under the ground floor, which was odd because I saw no way into a basement. They were gathering the Hist sap, the odd substance that had supposedly given Fidelis immunities and the scales on his hand, or so he claimed in our morning chat.

And then there were the docks, even when the Argonian Royal Court didn't seem to have any of its own boats: were they expecting someone to come to them? Regularly? Why would such a covert organization, one that isolated itself so much from the outside world, expect visitors from down the river? I thought I'd figured the Argonian Royal Court out, a shallow society that embezzled Imperial wealth and tried to use it to live in luxury, but clearly they were hiding something epic. My life really had been turned into something like fiction, like the old legends. Maybe I was still living under some deception greater than myself.

Also, there was that sound of children playing behind one of the doors I passed, even though the palace was a place for the Argonian Royal Court's leaders, those who'd given decades of service to the Argonian Royal Court, or servants for the former two. Why would children be in the palace? They would be an odd choice for any kind of labor, and they certainly wouldn't be managers of any kind. Though I'd always been under the impression the palace had its own Shadowscale branch, I'd thought it was made of the field-proven best Shadowscales from all the branches. After all, when I was six, **Breaks-not-a-leaf** had been sent away up the swamps for being the best of her time and she was twenty then. Why would they keep training-age children in the palace?

But the blip of noise I heard was small, so I kept questioning if it was my imagination. Still, was that was the process of denial for those who encounter the amazing, to blame their imagination? Was there something new and important happening at the palace that was somehow linked to the kids, with me too insistent that my life had to have more normality to acknowledge it?

Regardless, all those discoveries had brought me no closer to finding evidence that was presentable to the Elder Council. What could the Elder Council have possibly expected? Did Ocato just expect a document with the words "Argonian Royal Court" on it? Any document in the palace would probably be something plausibly forgeable.

With this stream of thought old suspicions began to seep back into me: did the Chancellor care how valid the proof was? He was only sending us to find "proof" of the organization's existence, after all; only that would get us a reward, he wasn't looking for an objective investigation. Was there a powerful Imperial plot occurring behind my back? Was I a catalyst for some massive Cyrodillic gain in this region? Or massive gain for Ocato? He'd said the blades were not "currently" under his jurisdiction. Old fear came back, an internal quivering, that I might once again be working for people who deceived me about the purpose of my actions.

Fidelis, did he know more? He'd been called away for a few minutes after we'd been briefed by Ocato. Was there a secret behind his eyes? That cynicism began to creep up again.

Was I repeating my mistakes? I should have known better than to consider Fidelis' claim about annexation evidence that it wouldn't happen. The questions returned, and so did that all too familiar ache of the soul. I hated my intelligence, my ability to know when I was being duped. The questions from my tour of the Argonian Royal Court's palace parted to make way for thoughts about Ocato.

_Does Ocato have ulterior motives?_ _Maybe, but is my contribution here still worth the risk? _As question of allegiance came back, I felt I was opening a wound. The tension returned to burn away any layer of fluff on my life. _What are the odds he does? What are the strengths of the potential outcomes of this mission? _My thoughts became long and anguishing, deep and rigid.

No! I had no reason to turn on them now; Fidelis' answer made sense: the Empire had enough on its plate. That and I had no idea how Ocato could gain personally from proving the existence of the Argonian Royal Court. I'd already decided my allegiance and it was wrong to bring it back up. _Does the Empire really have too much on its plate right now?_ My mind shot back, as the feeling of the solidity to my last epiphany started to fade.

No, it made sense Cyrodiil would be burdened after the Oblivion Crisis, so by continuing to question my allegiance I was doing wrong in the name my own _feelings_ of paranoia.

The thoughts needed to be stuffed away; I would soon encounter the tribals.

I mentally repeated _I will keep my allegiance, _

_I will keep my allegiance_,

_I will keep my allegiance, _

_I will keep my allegiance, _

_I will keep my allegiance, _

_I will keep my allegiance,_

_I will keep my allegiance,_

Then the storm in my mind felt like it had mostly died.

But I knew always teetered on the brink of madness. I came so close every time I deg into my mind, this wasn't the first time. My own cognition was like an animal waiting to pounce when I was so plagued by moral paranoia. Every time I got comfortable, it seemed to be met with irrational insistence the comfort was at the exploitation of someone else I hadn't considered, and it would be my duty to plunge my life into misery for their sake. As soon as I climbed to where I could do some good for the world and _feel_ good about it, closer to a solution or success of some kind, tension would squeeze me and pummel me with questions, as if there was no solid foothold above being as useless as when I was committing petty theft in the Imperial City.

Even with the acidic words gone, I was in commune with my old fears, the solid base of my mind, what was left strong after the scorching it received from my betrayal of the Brotherhood, over which there were only my flimsy constructs to let me walk above the questions. I needed to rebuild those flimsy constructs every time a storm of questions came, or risked ending my life in some psychotic act resulting from lack of trust in my own judgment.

Needing to stay mentally busy, thoughts to patch up this wounded mind, I started pushing myself to simulate my encounter with the tribals:

I'd tell them I needed temporary shelter, and if they declined, then it was time to walk away, regroup, and get in stealth mode. I was used to sneaking into tribal territory, listening to conversations that might help me find an important individual within the tribe. Soon it would be time to do the same with the Hist.

But how best to phrase the request?

**"You!"** A male yelled. After all this silence, a physical voice sounded odd.

This was the tribe I'd been walking towards, ilprepared to meet after being caught in the murky moral insecurity of my thoughts. Bits of two tribals were visible through the leaves. I internally scolded myself for not getting a solid plan for what to say sooner, getting too caught up in thoughts about the evidence and loyalty. Now I froze, awaiting their reaction to me as they were rustling forward, their bodies becoming more clearly defined. Two spined, spear-wielding teenage boys. They held their spears poised ready infront of them, but looked at me with a sort of cautious curiosity, attempting somewhat poorly not to portray an emotion.

Then he said something, which it took a second to decipher with alien accent and dialect. At first it sounded like he was speaking a different language, but I understood him. **"Are you who?"**

**"I seek only shelter." **Pushing out my cover story. "**I would behave as a loyal servant and friend if only you let me take shelter with your tribe."**

He was silent for a couple of seconds as I wondered if this situation would flow into welcome, their hostile shells slowly eroding, or if the aura of hostility in them would intensify to coerce me away.

The other Argonian turned to his long tailed friend and said in a quieter voice "**She not talk like our enemies, perhaps she is sincere."**

That seemed to set off the other one, who threw his hands explosively and looked at his friend wide-eyed:

"**Perhaps!? Look to her head!" **His words echoed through the hole they'd blown in the previously moderated atmosphere, the powerful outburst left to stew in the air. It seemed he was referring to my fins: he'd probably never seen a Finned Argonian before, and now I felt unpleasantly self conscious.** "She talks like a far away foreigner, but is an easy ploy, and she is deformed!"** Much more so now, given his choice of the word 'deformed', in addition to being shaken by his yelling.**"Want you our ancestors to haves dieds in vain driving out the **gasheet **who would exploit the Hist to perverts their bodies by letting an enemy touch our tree because of a moment of naivety of yours!? Could she just take a spore, and raise a Hist to be tortured for its sap!" **Though understanding of his words didn't exactly flow into me, I realized how much "gasheet" sounded like "khajiit". But this deep in the forest? How could that be? Had I imagined that similarity? Maybe the word sounded a bit farther from khajiit than I'd perceived, but my mind continued to dwell on the moment, with the notion that something had shot through those two isolated concepts and linked them above me.

After the long silence, the outraged youth turned back to me. **"Go. Not you are welcome here." **His spear was held primed, the tip staring at me.

Without a word, I turned and went. This was a mundane routine. I'd walk out of sight, then mentally regroup to make a careful, stealthy approach, and I'd soon be behind his back while, exploring territory forbidden to me, while he was confidentially unaware the "deformed" Argonian he'd just turned away was in his backyard.

(Densius Fidelis): North West of the palace, Black Marsh

* * *

_It's pointless to gain her help only to lose her trust. _That had been the philosphical slogan I'd been left with after we split up, the one that determined I wouldn't tell her of the bracelet. Now it was starting to feel like a more solid conclusion, but when it was made it felt almost arbitrary, simply a twitch towards some empty words. Eitherway, these hours would pass with us in two different worlds.

I'd been trying to think of how to figure out if and how the Argonian Royal Court would try to kill me, but the thoughts had done little good.

Those thoughts were starting to leave me, though, because this far into the wilderness, I was more wary of the here and now, thinking there might be hostile Argonians nearby.

I checked my watch again:

2:34. Two and half hours.

A twig snapped in the distance, and the noise seemed to make me vibrate inside-out. I looked over in the noise's direction. It didn't look like anything, but I kept staring at the stillness, almost daring some tribal hunting party to come into view. Stillness, emptiness. But I still felt life in that area. I kept staring it down, wondering if some violent change might occupy the area in the next second.

No, a hunting party couldn't be concealed so long among these thin trees. These false alarms had occurred before, it was time to learn from my mistakes.

Regardless, walking around here in my Legion suit would have felt better. In uniform and with a squad, there was a feeling of security and power, but in this cheap set of leather armor, it was pretty hard to feel that. Then again, could the stone weapons of the tribals pierce leather? Was it simply the fact that I'd been physically scarred by a group of Argonians that put me on edge?

Yes, the Argonian Royal Court didn't even know I was a soldier and yet they sent me out to find Hist spores. It couldn't have been very dangerous. That was satisfying epiphany. I wasn't expected to take on another pack of Argonians. Everything was fine.

But as those troubles were pushed aside I realized what was still the layer beneath them: the removal of my bracelet. They must have known, or at least suspected, the charm. I felt a wary emptiness thinking about the consequences I was stuck with, now thinking about my work under this weird organization in a larger context. The vision of the bracelet, the tiny object that could shift the flow of this mission so much, was stuck in my head. Was the Argonian Royal Court duping me, planning without my knowledge, herding their little discovery around as a fool, knowing he was their enemy? Was this very mission just busy work so they could plot and prepare to take me down safely and quietly? Were they cleverly playing me to get all the petty work they could before I became more of a risk than a useful tool?

I knew it wasn't too late to enlist Soch-Eena's help, incase there came a new epiphany that would warrant me to heap the heavy bracelet thoughts onto her, but I was still trapped between a rock and a hard place in a land that didn't have much of either. There was no pleasant choice, my life would either be coated in fear or a sort of guilty-embarrassment.

Maybe, because they found the bracelet, that tool of questionable use, I would never get the cure. At once I hated that little thing.

Then again, that was assuming the cure was real: maybe I couldn't return because of the simple nature of this province, regardless of whether or not they suspected me of being a spy. I'd thought the cure might be a sham many times before. What if I was stuck here, to live out the rest of my life in this swamp, however long that life might be, no matter what was done? Then it would be a duty to the Empire to try to kill the Argonian Royal Court's king, or queen, myself, and maybe burn down their palace; I'd get no gratitude for it, but die in this alien, ugly world. That was a crushing thought. But perhaps it was necessary to confront that bitter and frustrating possibility.

Or what if the cure was a fabrication to cover up the opposite truth, that I could return to Cyrodiil whenever? There was a spurt of euphoria.

Yet wouldn't that mean the Legion still couldn't come in? I'd only survived due to a surreal, freak occurence with the Hist-sap, that even the Argonian Royal Court was probably working their brains to mush trying to explain. The Legionaries still didn't have those immunities (aside from the small number of Argonian servicemen). Nothing would have changed for the Legion. That was disheartening, my previous satisfaction dissolving.

In the thick of reflection, I looked down at the scales on my hand. Now there were about twenty little scales on my palm, the mark of the freak occurrence, perhaps favor by the Gods, that had let _me_ live.

Yet Sudeeda cautioned me against touching a Hist tree if it was "secreting". That seemed to hint that the sap could be very harmful, meaning the contact I'd already had was harmful. Images of macabre deformations even my body wasn't prepare to handle materialized once again; such deformations would probably bring me more pain than my mind was designed for. That thought made me nervous.

Yet I couldn't recall seeing the tribals touch the tree either, they let the Hist sap drip into a cup below the tree, and then put my hand in it. So maybe that wasn't the same as touching the tree. Was the sap somehow only dangerous when it was on a tree? That lifted some of the dread. But why would the sap be more dangerous on the tree?

My theory about the sap: when two life-forms were in it, one would take on the characteristics of the other. So if the sap was touching me and the tree, I'd begin to take on characteristics of the tree perhaps, as weird as that sounded. Of course, a human body couldn't get very far with that, so I'd die. But it would be fine to touch the sap when it wasn't on the tree.

It felt good to let go of that fear. Now that patch of scales could just feel like a blessing again.

With the pleasure came a fresh, new epiphany, of comfortable, intuitive rationality; I'd tell Soch-Eena I suspected the Argonian Royal Court would try to kill us simply because they didn't seem like the types to let people who'd stumbled on them go free. That way, she could help me ensure our safety without knowing about the bracelet.

Yes, that was a comforting solution. Now walking through these woods didn't seem so ugly.

(**Fights-up-close**): South East of the palace, Black Marsh

* * *

This area had a lot of tall shrubbery, very convenient. Through all the shrubbery, only little bits of the creek that would likely host the Hist tree they were protecting could be seen.

Still hearing no one else, I began making my way towards another tightly packed cluster of bushes. Looking down at the ground again, I only placed my feet on the softest earth, a fluent procedure. Closing in on enemy territory, I felt more lucid.

Once well concealed, it was a good time for the Detect Life spell. I let the rigidity of my thoughts dissolve, mind silent, world fuzzy, and pushed with a faith in my ability.

Nothing.

To go straight through the bushes would cause a lot of rustling, though. Better would be to crawl under them.

I got prone. The area ahead was relatively bare, and therefore not visibly concealing, but there was a promisingly thick tree trunk to the left that would be a good place for the next pause. Crawling prone in the little tunnel of the natural underworld, there was a only a bit of rustling above. Digging my elbows and knees into the mud, the structure of bush was like a majestic arch into a great city.

With the hearty thrusting of my arms and legs across the dirt, I brought my body into this new world. My upper half was through. My focus was on that tree trunk I'd soon press myself again and Detect Life from behind.

When my legs were through I got into a crouched position, now thoroughly covered in dirt in the ettiquetteless nature of a Shadowscale assignment (even if this wasn't one officially). I crept forward, forming to the situation as precisely as water in a bottle. The old days were coming back, memories of my assassination of Cheif **Wades-in-River** especially. Watching my feet, the nearby ground was taking on a higher level of meaning and detail for me, like a landscape of its own. I stepped on only the softest patches of earth on the way to the tree-trunk.

Pressing myself against the bark, I once again initiated my Detect Life spell. This time there were those oddly colored blotches in my field of view.

There was a strange but familiar sensation in my bones, a sense of activity in me at the sight of life; the excitement of being in the presence of my opponents. One looked to be at the creek, bent over. Another one was walking away from the creek. Another, directly ahead, so distant he was only in the feeble limits of my detection, was standing still.

This was true stealth, to be in the presence of the opposition yet in a different reality than them. Soon the one who'd been walking away from the creek was far off enough not be a concern. I guessed the one bending over would be going back soon too. Letting my spell go, my focus came back, the world sharpening. I gauged the one getting water would be audible when started walking away.

Leaves crunching, the tribal departed from the creek. The one in distance probably hadn't moved, but it seemed unlikely that one would notice me through the brush.

Creeping around the tree trunk, I weaved through some ferns.

Ahead there was a very large bush, with a small "compartment" at its base where lack of branches seemed to provide a shelter. Once I got into that natural compartment it would be a good time to once again use the spell.

I watched the ground I treaded on while also keeping a thorough concentration on the soundscape around me. My steps were soft. There were no anomalous noises.

A small spec of fuzz, a bug, flew in erratic patterns close to my eyes. I flicked it away with my wrist, then took the final steps to get to cover.

In this little natural shelter I let my mind dissolve and zone out into broad mush. The color blotches began appearing again. No one new had arrived by the creek, but the person who'd been 'in the distance' might be an important factor soon. It seemed that person was guarding something. The Hist tree probably. Dumbly oblivious to my presence, he still had power over me, even as he thought he was having a mundane day. We were opposites.

Turning my head to right, I could see thin traces of life, just barely in the caressing touch of my perception. Turning to my left was a similarly subtle, trace detection of life across the creek; stationary, that one was probably another guard complimenting the first. It was hard to imagine being able to move straight ahead without the guard ahead seeing me, and to circumvent him to the right would put me close to many unpredictable tribals.

The idea of travel through the creek came into my head. It was lined with thick plants and could give me a clear line of sight on the Hist.

Still, sneaking through a creek felt a bit more irregular. I hadn't done that many times. None the less, irregular was better than definitely dangerous.

I turned, seeing brown blips of the creek's water through the star-shaped leaves and droopy bulbs that hid it. Heading for the water, I biased my stride a bit back in the direction I'd arrived from to get farther away from the supposed guards before setting foot in the stream.

Now I was very near the entanglement of plants that lined it.

Quietly pushing branches away, dangling bulbs and leaves seemed to insist on smothering me. But soon I was through, my view of the creek unobscured. It was shallow enough to see the warped ridges of the mud landscape at the bottom.

I gently moved my foot towards the water, keeping it inorganically still while doing so. My senses were heightened, mind pressed to the soundscape, even the smallest noises seeming powerful in this situation.

Coolness seeping into my shoe, I slid my foot deeper into the water, until it made contact with the stream-floor and stirred up some wispy cloud of mud.

I began lowering the other one in, this time with a bit more confidence. Soon coolness enveloped that foot too.

Now facing the opposite wall of plants, I turned to my head to the right. There was a tree that looked somewhat like the picture; a Hist tree. It had no barricade around it.

This organic canyon did seem to be a clever little safe route. Using this area was a demonstration of my talents.

I slowly lifted my right foot out from the water, bringing it back to the dry realm, conscious of every drip, and turned it at a 90 degree angle. I lowered it again, but an inch from the water discovered I underestimated gravity.

The foot caused a bit of splash. Even what little noise that made sounded like breaking glass. Suspense grabbed me; I listened and watched for any movement towards my position.

Nothing.

Grateful for the mercy I'd been granted, I promised not to make the same mistake again. I lifted my other foot from the water and rotated it, and then set it down with absolute care, keeping it slow all the way down. It touched the muddy bottom.

The trials weren't over. Now came getting to the tree, and if anyone decided to get water from the creek again, they would surely see me. My scales felt wary for the pressure of a gaze.

With slow, elegant steps, I advanced.

I was focusing on every little wisp of sound, from the chirping of the bugs to the fabric against my body. For now, though, the tribals were oblivious to the important developments taking place in their territory.

Getting closer to the Hist meant getting closer to the guards first, so their chances of hearing me got greater: I gauged I was only seven or eight steps away from passing the first set of guards. I looked at the branches above the point I gauged would be next to the guards. I found and focused on an oddly curved branch, gauging that once I made my way past that, I had passed the guards and could almost guarantee the rest of the mission would be a swim in the ocean.

With only the softest noise I moved forward, my sonic consciousness squeezing hard on the situation, almost daring an anomaly. The curved branch seemed to stare at me as I stared at it. It was my current focus.

While this route was the safer alternative, I could only hope that fate didn't throw me any surprise visitors. If that happened, the speed potion would allow a quick get away, but I'd have to come back here again, with them on alert and no more speed potion at my disposal.

As the time and distance between me and that branch closed, the situation seemed to squeeze me tighter. I was wary of my sides, but did not dare look those ways.

That branch was very close. I felt both an urge to cringe and smile. One more step.

Then I was under it.

Then I passed it. Relief. I'd made my way through the most dangerous stage of the mission.

Now I stared at the Hist, my new focus. I would need to stand up to pick the seeds, and that would no doubt risk my exposure, but the increased visibility could always be compensated with my Shadow power.

After first leaving for Cyrodiil, then destroying the last of the Black Hand, these were the last circumstances I'd think to find myself in. I was even employed by the Argonian Royal Court again, albeit this time with different true masters.

**_"Where will you go, what will you do?"_** Given I was spying on the palace itself, that was a question that should have been concerning **Learns-fast**, not me.

I was a couple of steps from being in range to pick the seeds, and once I gathered the seeds even being spotted would mean little with the speed potion. My arms both felt hot and cold as my feet moved them towards the place where they'd do their share of the duties.

Now its branches were above me, a tantalizing sight. I was close enough to reach for the spores.

Just for precaution, I tried to detect life one more time, letting my mind loose, letting shapes become replaced by irregularly moving grain and feeling the pulse of veins in my head.

Immediately, I saw a blob to the left and right ahead of me. Apparently there had been four guards in total, forming a nice square around the tree. Turning my head all the way to the right, there were no blobs, and all the way to the left, the same held true. The Shadow power would not be necessary to grab the spores. I just needed to do it quietly:

I began rising very slowly so as not to make the slightest audible disturbance.

Then I was in range to pick the spores. I picked off one, still wary of my surroundings. Then a second, the slightest ache in the hand. Then a third, the possibility of a tribal heading to the creek crossing my mind for the last time.

Then I clenched them and slowly lowered myself. Fate had not thrown me any difficulties. It felt good.

Now all that was left was to head back down the stream.

I twisted my feet 180 degrees.

Heading through the water this time felt a bit more procedural. A good thing, and the unused Shadow power and speed potion gave me two failsafes if spotted last minute.

I just hoped _external_ peace didn't attract my _internal_ demons again.


	25. Free time?

"In additional to the reptilian Argonians, who are today Black Marsh's most visible denizen, there were once tribes of men - Kothringi, Orma, Yespest, Horwalli - and tribes of mer - the Barsaebic Ayleids and the Cantemiric Velothi - and even a tribe who may have been related to the Khajiit of Elsweyr, the vulpine Lilmothiit." –Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition.

Sun's Dusk 5, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Palace Lake, Black Marsh

* * *

The tall, thick trees indicated the palace was not far at all. However, it was not yet in view. I continued to walk on the natural bridges of pale fallen tree trunks, weaving my head around branches which had slithered every which way.

It was only around dinner time, and yet it was hard to believe this was the same day I'd toured the Argonian Royal Court palace. It was also the same day I was reminded of the serious risks that I could break down from within: I'd been reacquainted with my inner demons, the moral paranoia, no longer suspended by fluff, but rather in commune with what defined this chapter of my life.

Hungry, I wondered if Densius was back at the palace. Probably not, as he would likely have a harder time finding spores than me. Densius would probably have to eat late...or skip a meal and go straight to bed. Rough mission. I did feel a little bad for him, being somewhere in the distance, hungry but knowing he wouldn't make it home for dinner; Plus, it would seem logical that he wouldn't like the dark, given that most overworld types don't.

My physical existence was cushier, but those cushions seemed shallow when I had storms inside my head, one of which I still felt like I was recovering from. Still, all the physical activity at the palace would likely do well to ensure I didn't pick at my mental wounds again.

Slivers of the lake were visible through the trees to the left, reflecting the moons above. Now I was sure I could make out the structure of the palace too.

Continuing forward through this entangled cavern of branches, I focused on dinner, still trying to keep a heavy patching over the questions of moral paranoia I'd recently locked away. For months, there had been a fear of how deep my second guessing would dig. I used to define the stages of my life by the external affairs, but recently so much of my life had been behind the eyes.

I could still feel that exposed sense of uncertainty in the back of my mind, the stage set for another barrage of deep questions.

Noticing the train of thought I was going down, I desperately shook those thoughts off my mind.

Back in the palace I'd find out when dinner was. Then with the free-time afterwards, I would... browse the library. Or would I spy more?

I felt like browsing the library, but I ached realizing it might be a duty to spy as much as I could, instead of enjoying the local luxuries.

_No! _It was my duty to stay mentally healthy to complete this mission, and if I kept second guessing myself I'd drive myself insane. It was crucial to veer from that topic before liquefying that epiphany with irrational cynicism. I tried to get out of the sticky thoughts while I still had a conclusion. _But then you'll get in the habit of never questioning! You'll be duped again!_

No ground beneath me! Internally gasping with an unpleasant startle, my foot splashed into the water.

I'd stepped off one of the logs without realizing it. I was shaken by the surprise, but completely unhurt. Lifting my foot up, it was like a warning from above to stop losing myself in the questions. Message from above...ironically, that was a reminder of a question I'd left unanswered since my betrayal of the Dark Brotherhood: religion.

Eitherway, I decided to heed the warning.

Now to maintain the silence, falling back into physical reality. The palace was close now. On the lake, a bird flew from a floating log. Now the path indoors was visible, just a bit more of this wood to cross. Once I got to the palace, I would have a free night ahead. After hours of walking, the palace was only a bit further. Yes, that path of planks was very closer now.

I took my final steps on what nature had provided me, then put my foot on a plank, walking on an artificial path, finally.

The exposed feeling from before, the sense of coarse existence, was gone and I was back in mental safety, comfortable.

Entering the palace this way required one to walk up steps to the second floor outside. I turned the corner of the path and saw the steps.

Up the creaking steps I went, coming into contact with canopies of the trees, a rare place to be in Black Marsh and a bit of a novelty. At the top of the stair case I took the key from my pocket and opened the door.

Closing the door behind me, the heavy chirping of bugs was replaced with near silence, just some muffled chatting and footsteps below. Now I was in shelter. Wiping my feet on the mat, I planned to go to the office and drop off the spores in **Takes-initiative**'s mail slot, then change in my room. After that came learning when dinner was.

I turned to the left and began walking down the narrow hallway. The large room to the right sounded hollow, and like there was running and other upbeat activities in it. A sport? An indoor court?

I turned to the right. Passing one of the couches and a stair case, my mind seemed to be going flat; Exhaustion was starting to set in.

Now walking passed the rows of bedrooms, my mind was monotone. Maybe I'd lie down for a bit after I changed.

Passing by countless door knobs, I knew I'd sleep well tonight.

I cracked my knuckles while walking. It had been a long day, and there was still a significant chunk of it to come.

I maneuvered my way through the jagged section of the hall until the row of office doors were visible. I locked eyes with her mail slot, removing the spores from my pocket. Just a few more steps...

Now infront of the slot, I put them in. It sounded a bit like they were hitting paper, not that it meant much. As the final one was dropped in, it marked the end of work and the beginning of leisure. The rest of the day was up to me to craft.

Limbs heavy, I turned to head back to my room. Navigating through the jagged section of hallway again, I weaved passed an older looking man.

Beyond my steps, there was a feeling of physical apathy. I just thought about getting closer to my room and collapsing on the bed and letting the world come flooding in. I had gone through quite a day, so much variety both physically and emotionally. Now I was burnt out.

Walking past the long rows of bedroom doors, I could identify Room 39, the number that marked my way into the golden room.

My stride slanted towards the door. Then it was infront of me.

I opened it, delighted by the familiar sanctuary, the bed waiting invitingly. Changing would come first, though.

I pushed the door closed and locked it.

Mind numb, I took everything off, cool air against my scales. I opened the drawer, selected new clothing. My mind was fried from the trials of the day, but that was fine.

Once the fresh, new clothing was on, I walked toward the bed.

At its foot, I stiffly collapsed.

Body on the mattress, my only movement was the involuntary swinging of my leg.

I stared at the mound of unmade quilt ahead of me. My leg slowed to a stop on its own so I was like a statue. I was staring with no focus. The world was still and silent.

(**Learns-fast**): Gideon Sanctuary, Black Marsh

* * *

With no worries grating me, there was a feeling of relaxation, contentment with my current situation, my spirit free to explore whatever avenue it chose.

I was musing over starting a new book, but there were no burdens. It was pleasurable musing on the edge of activity, flirting with ideas of entertainment and relaxation in which my mind could flow, but not committing. This was my world now with the future secure, the neighboring tribes quiet, the Dark Brotherhood gone, and the little ones away at the palace. My mind was cleaner and more efficient, old assurances coming back.

Then I heard the headquarters' entrance door open and a male voice talking with one of the Shadowscales. My messenger, I realized, **Walks-Long-Ways. **A letter from the palace. My spirit sank. My time wasn't as free as it originally seemed. Were the children returning? Was this a surprise assignment? The footsteps were coming closer, meaning so were the burdens. The previous sense of opportunity and indulgence was thinning. I was coming to terms with the fact that my previous thoughts of how to fill free time were meaningless.

Then came that annoying, signature double-knock on my door, iconic of mundane displeasure I ached with when given an assignment.

"Come in." I irritably said.

And come in the lanky, spined young man did. His stride was brisk in an annoying contrast with my soured mood. "A message from the palace, sir." He said as he walked, placing it on my desk. Then he turned to walk out, to leave me with some dry stress.

He exited, closing the door with annoying gentle precision behind him.

I could hear his muffled footsteps outside, a few more fuzzy words between him and a Shadowscale: **Hides-in-Shadows,** then several more footsteps.

So much for free time.

I picked up the letter:

**_To Learns-fast, administrator of the Cyrodiillic Shadowscale Branch,_**

**_As you know, the Argonian Royal Court has been heavily monitoring the situation outside our borders since the end of the Oblivion Crisis, and with even greater effort since the mysterious disappearance of the Dark Brotherhood. _**

**_We believe it is now time for the Shadowscale Branches to take action to manipulate the volatile situation outside our borders. This means sending our agents deeper into the territory of the other provinces even though they can no longer be passed into the Dark Brotherhood's jurisdiction, and sending them to provinces where the Dark Brotherhood did not fortify itself. _**

_**You, Learns-fast, as head of the Cyrodillic Shadowscale Branch, will unfortunately be required to extend our reach not only into political conflicts in the heart of Cyrodiil, but also heavily familiarize yourself and your subjects with the current situation in **Elsweyr**, particularly the Port City of **Senchal**, in preparation for potential future assignments there. You will likely be called upon to manage operations in this **city** in the future, so you must be prepared.**_

_**The most significant development we've witnessed in Cyrodiil is the formation (or reincarnation) of an organizations known as the "**Knights of the Nine**", which may be a crucial factor in manipulating that province to our liking. You likely will recall most of what I will tell you, but it is crucial to refresh your memory and fill you in on any information you are not already aware of: This group appears to be ideologically opposed to the current government of Cyrodiil, and possesses a massive treasury of ambiguous origin. It refuses to recognize Elder Council rule, though there has been no violence between the two parties.**_

**_Cyrodiillic opinion appears to be highly divided in regards to this group, as we gather from various news sources, many of which you have personally sent to us. _**

_**This group, the **Knights of the Nine**, is currently very young, but has shown rapid growth. It is also viewed extremely favorably in the city of **Kvatch**, the Cyrodiillic **city** which was almost completely destroyed during the Oblivion Crisis; the** Knights of the Nine** has been heavily aiding the **city**'s reconstruction. There are some indications the** Knight** leader, known as Lord Crusader, may take a position of authority in the **city** once it is reconstructed.**_

_**Until the trends above cease, **Knights of the Nine **will be, without their knowledge, under our protection. However, we must prevent their reconciliation with the Cyrodiillic central government, as this division within the province is crucial for our future efforts. That being said, it is also crucial the** Knights of the Nine** do not find themselves in mortal conflict while they are still young:** **ancient Imperial law prevents the Elder Council from disbandening them at will, but the **Knights** could easily be crushed on defensive grounds.**_

_**It may be useful for your agents to gather more information on the identity of Lord Crusader, who has remained extremely private since his rise to fame. Similarly, it may be useful to gather information on their source of funding. It is highly suspected, in Cyrodiil and in the Argonian Royal Court, **Lady Elsyana **is a critical contributor, but this cannot yet be verified. Similarly, it would be wise to keep tabs on the Elder Council's current approach to the **Knights of the Nine**.**_

_**As head of Cyrodillic Shadowscale Branch, you will also be given all responsibilities for operations in **Elsweyr**. It may be too early for action in **Elsweyr**, but as a general guideline, lasting peace in the region must be prevented for the time being. This means we can neither accept reconciliation, nor the utter defeat of one side in the conflict. We want maximum resources to be expended by both the **Renrijra Krin** and Imperial or **Elsweyri** armed forces. In the meantime, I suggest you train your subjects in the **Elsweyri **language and educate yourself thoroughly on the province's political climate.**_

**_Attached you will find important documents for the tasks we have assigned you._**

**_-Hides-in-trees, Director of the Shadowscale Program_**

(**Fights-up-close**): Argonian Royal Court Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

Since that seemed to be the last of the thoughts that would flood into my mind while I lied here, I got up from the bed, ready to find out what time dinner was. Keeping the words **"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask when dinner is being served?" **stored in me, feeling confident I wouldn't sound awkward, I planned to walk around and ask the person at my nearest convenience.

Getting up from the bed, I unlocked the door, revealing the hall again. I turned to the right, heading for the nearest flight of stairs.

Once it was clear when dinner was, the remaining free-time could be planned for. There was certainly a lot to do here, both for 'passing-time' and for my secret assignment.

So far, the halls were clear, with only the doors and wooden planks with me; Not surprising, given it was mostly bedrooms and offices on the second floor, not the kind of rooms one tended to move in and out of a lot; there were rooms clearly made for other purposes, but it was impossible to tell what from outhere.

I turned right, walking past the large room, still no one in sight.

There was some creaking up in the nearest guard tower, its entrance a square, bare and pragmatic looking protrusion from the wall. Still, it didn't sound like the guard would be coming down.

The stairs were ahead of me.

Hand hovering above the railing, the descent began. I was already hearing many people downstairs.

As I got to the bottom floor, I saw a large crowd of little kids and someone who looked like a trainer. _Kids, here? _

Those must have been the ones I'd heard this morning. That blip of noise had indeed been a link to reality, not my imagination. I was staring at that odd truth in the flesh.

They all had their backs to me as the large crowd plowed through the hall.

**"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask when dinner is being served?" **The words broke the air, and the trainer, as well as many little faces I could see out of the far reaches of view, turned.

"**About twenty minutes**." She responded.

**"Thanks."**

Then they all turned back around, except for several fuzzy blobs in the farther corners of my vision. I shifted my eyes downward and saw the faces which were locked onto mine, awestruck. **Runs-fast, Hides-in-foliage, Throws-knives, Snipes-with-**crossbow, **Steps-silently**, **Stays-perfectly-still**, **Uses-no-weapon, ****Avoids-unnecessary-force, **and **Crawls-on-stomach**. All the Shadowscales in Gideon who hadn't completed their training.

No doubt they recognized me as well.


	26. Pushed by the Palace

A/N: Okay, I've been starting to think that I worry about too much about my writing, and spend too much time fixing things that aren't really problems in the first place. Because of that, I tried to be quicker and less meticulous with these next two chapters. So please, tell me if there's any dip in quality. If so, I'll know my previous, more time-consuming methods of writing were warranted. If not, I should be increasing the speed of my writing.

"In the center of Tamriel, the Aylieds were creating an empire of their own with Cyrodiillic slaves; while to the north, the Nords began to unite into a common whole that was to be called Skyrim.

The Nordic influence on their southern cousins was equally dramatic, inspiring the Cyrodiils to revolt agianst their Aylied masters, under the banner of Alessia, former slave turned queen. The Alessian Empire of Cyrodiil was born in 1E 243." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 5, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): North West of Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

Feeling a little light-headed and a deep, sharp emptiness in my stomach, it was hard to think about much other than whether I would miss dinner tonight. The surreal colors of the sky meant dinner time had probably passed. But this must have been close to the palace; the thick trees looked familiar.

Going to get three spores each had been pointless. If either of us had found one tree, we would have had all the spores necessary, meaning I probably wouldn't have been needed at all. Now, frustratingly enough, it might be too late for dinner because of it. Still, Sudeeda was the idiot for not telling us that a single tree usually held hundreds of spores. With all those hours gone to waste, I was a bit angry at her. No doubt she knew the Hist better than either of us. Right now, I felt a tad fidgety.

But through the trees there were visible bits of the structure of the palace at last, which really stood out in this untamed wilderness. Yes, all this walking was almost over. I had never seen the back of the palace from this angle though, and there was something odd and almost industrial looking visible from this angle. More of those Hist trees, several of them, all in a neat pattern and stuck full of tubing in a large, dammed up section of the river. Why was it that any time the Argonians here found a Hist, they'd dam it up? Was that some kind of farming technique? Fine tuning the amount of water the Hist took in so it didn't drown itself? But then why would they grow in rivers in the first place?

Either way, my gaze shifted to the West planks. Only bits were visible. Looking to the outside dining area closer by, it was unoccupied. My spirit sank a little more; no dinner.

Hopefully I'd be able to find a snack somewhere. Even the present time felt almost like it was going through skips as I zoomed in and out of reality.

A prick of pain on my arm signaled another bug bite. I viciously shook it. The frustration caused by this useless and taxing excursion could easily spill over the rim.

But the indoors were close, and as that space closed, I imagined a line extending from the North Western corner of the palace straight Westward, a marker to my progress. Very conscious of time and space, I continued forward towards the entrance to the indoors: vastly unexplored, and chalked full of opportunity for such a small space. Then I crossed the imaginary line.

The rest of the palace was probably winding down right now, their stomachs full. Obviously I was envious. I'd need to figure out of how to get food once I got inside.

I passed the basement stairs, once again impressed the Argonians had managed to build a basement in such soggy terrain. Ahead, the plank path and farming area were clearly visible.

Now the planks were close, and it would probably be good to feel something solid underfoot. Solidity was the mark of civilization.

Yes, very soon my foot would be on the planks.

Finally, my feet were welcomed by the man-made after so much time in the mud. Even if I did spend the rest of the night hungry, no ailment felt too difficult when I wasn't burdened with a task.

I opened the front entrance.

In the mud-room, I handlessly pried and kicked my shoes off.

Exiting the mud-room, the plan was to put the seeds in Sudeeda's mail first. Narrowly avoiding bumping into someone in this imperfect focus, I took three turns in quick succession through the jagged section of hall, passing the two couches. While walking I jammed my hand in my pocket and felt the three seeds again.

Pushing myself up each step I kept one hand on the railing, some ache building up in my legs.

Passing the library door, I turned the corners to the row of office doors.

Yet there was something odd by one of the doors. A note, incongruously tacked to the fine wood. No doubt that put an unclassy hole in the wall, so it must have been something important. And the location of the door it was next to carried a blip of familiarity; it was next to _her _office_. _

Some ideas started to sprout in my mind. At first the hunger chopped them down. But could it be that something significant had happened with Sudeeda? Did she predict I would forget where her mail-slot was, or was this the mark of a much more significant future event I would be somehow involved in?

Arriving at the letter, I saw "Come in Densius Fidelus", the misspelling made for an odd clash with her personality, but she probably didn't know many Imperials. There was a sense of urgency in the ugly and blunt way this was presented. It was unclear if the seeds were still supposed to be put in her mail-slot, but I ultimately declined, instead going to open the door, wondering, with a bit of tension, what it could be.

Opening the door, Sudeeda looked up from sorting through her desk drawer. Her confidence was gone, her eyes were hiding some turbulent insecurity behind them. I closed the door, wondering what words would she had.

She spoke: "Densius Fidelis. We...we have an urgent assignment for you." She shuffled speedily through more papers, only a little of her original personality visible through whatever trauma she'd encountered. She was hiding something, and that made _me_ even a little panicky. She didn't seem like the type of person who'd be easy to shake up. But at least now it felt like we were on the same level.

She finally pulled a map from the stack of papers and quickly pushed it across her desk. Then she sloppily stuffed the rest of the papers back in her draw. She beckoned me, placing her finger on a spot on the map. I walked now in a similar mind set.

It was Black Marsh with many markings. She was pointing to a small blue circle that had an imperfect red line going through it. "We want you to journey to this location starting tonight." Tonight!? There was something seriously wrong here for her to suggest such an impromptu task. "We will provide you with camping equipment. Take this map. You must wait for them there and tell them I sent you. Show them it." She'd churned her words out fast. Being rushed into an assignment just as I was suffering from the first felt like a slap in the face.

"Tonight?" A little outrage seeping into my voice with an embarrassing crackle, a sharp feeling in the throat. Looking back up at her, her wide-eyed expression was unbroken.

"The difficulty of this task will make it better...credit for the payment of your debt to us. I will take you to our equipment room now."

As she rose, me starting to feel the same internal hurricane she probably was, I cut in "What about dinner? And who's them?" I felt something quivering beneath my voice.

"A party of our employees is delivering Dwemer artifacts from Morrowind to this palace. They will arrive the evening of the day after tomorrow. Take the map." _The evening of the day after tomorrow!? _That didn't look like more than a day's journey. She sharply grabbed the map and shoved it towards me in a way that was slightly degrading.

I decided to push against her tidal-wave of an attitude, trying to gain some ground and knowledge. "Why tonight? It can't be more than a day's journey! And why can't I at least get some sleep? And why did you wait until now to tell me this would happen?"

"None of that is important to your mission." Another spurt of annoyance came in me. She was treating me like a child. "This will all be taken into consideration before we decide to give you the cure that can purge your body of disease."

I stood firm. "Can't you at least tell me when I'm getting that cure? How much more of this am I going to have to go through? And what about Soch-Eena? Where's she for all this?"

There was a brief silence before she drew in a ragged breath, as if realizing she was moving too fast. Would the next moment finally reveal what this was all about? I waited for the silence to break, noticing she wasn't even remotely facing me any more. Maybe soon she would let the explanations flow out, let me partake in her world so it would be clear what fear had permeated this facility. My breaths were shallow. With her impending concession, I now felt like the bigger one here.

"Soch-Eena must be contained for the time being. She may not show the same...integrity you have, but you will likely reunite with her within a week."

The words desolated the air around us. My spirit was sinking slowly knowing another crew member might have just dropped out. But why would they suspect her loyalty over mine? "What happened, what did she do?", now feeling a bit more like the aggressor in this conversation, temporary bigger than she was.

"I'm sure she would like to protect her privacy." She responded. _Good one. _Obviously Sudeeda was the one harboring shameful secrets.

The judgmental silence continued. A jolt in my mind came to ask the question _'Are you just trying to keep me out of here?'_.

_Defensive_, that would make me sound defensive, and so far it looked like dumb luck was the only thing that prevented _me_ from being detained too. Fighting the current could break the fragile gift luck had given me. I would let her lead me, then reflect on this out in the chirping night.

My hand quivered slightly.

She looked at me this time "I assume now you are ready to go."

"Yeah." I said, a nearly-teary frustration trying to push its way up through my voice.

She began walking, and I followed, stewing the decision to submit to her intentions.

(**Fights-up-close**): Subterranian Prison, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

After I came back from another few seconds of mental stagnancy, I returned to scanning the bare room desperately. All I could move in this room were the eating utensils, the plate, and my body; everything else was attached to the wall, and yet how to manipulate those three things to escape somehow had been all that was on my mind for hours. But the thoughts were fading into nothing with greater frequency now. It was hard to keep concentrating, but that stood to reason; how much could I really milk from this situation?

Maybe this was futile. How many prisoners really escaped jail alone? And this wasn't an average prison, not when the Argonian Royal Court knew so many clever tricks to get out of captivity, and had taken visible precautions for those.

But thinking of giving up gave me a spurt of frustration. To think a prison might get the better of me...

And what were the odds the trainees would be here to recognize me!? What could they possibly be doing here!? That was ridiculously unlikely but put me in this solidly inescapable prison. A burst of anger at the defiance of logic caused me to hit myself in the leg. There was a sharp lump in my throat. These circumstances were reality looking me in the eye and breaking its promises.

It was tempting to give up entirely, on everything, not amuse the cosmos. My misfortune had already broken the rules. No point in playing the game if the antagonistic forces were going to cheat.

Then a creaking came from the door at the right end of the hall, and clear conversation flooded out "**I meant the shipment of **Thrahasta Ghoad**, when's that arriving? They're sending more people out these days, after all, and I hope we don't run out**." It was two mage looking types heading for the stairs.

**"A week or so."** The older one replied as the exit door opened, casting sunlight, a poetic representation of the unattainable freedom, over the floor "**The dock workers would know f-"** the door was shut, leaving nothing but the ugly orange torch light.

This cell was so basic, and that was its strength. There was so little to manipulate or grab onto. It was infuriating to be defeated by stone and steel!

If Densius was back, what had he been told above? How would the Argonian Royal Court explain my disappearance? Obviously they thought I might be vindicated once **Learns-fast** saw me, even though I knew he'd only confirm I was indeed his former agent. If they thought, albeit wrongly, that I could come back into their service, how would they explain this detainment to him? Would they tell him the truth in vague words: that they had near proof I was a rogue operative of their organization?

Eitherway, I was constricted and helpless; I couldn't change anything without thinking of a way out of here, and hours of exhausting my brain with rushing and increasingly absurd thoughts had left me with nothing.

**Learns-fast's** arrival would be a death sentence, and even just reuniting with him was a bitter situation.

Blips of our last conversation ran through my head: _**"Why didn't you tell me the Imperials made us!?"** _

As the memory attacked, I clenched my teeth and formed my hands like they were about to rip someone apart.

_**"And how do you know I will?"** _My most defiant words ever.

That tightening sensation returned.

_"**You can't survive without us, your only life is in our ranks."**_

The memories were so captivating I almost forgot what originally brought them up:

**Learns-fast's** return; an odd pain stabbed deep into me.

But it was burning moments like this that reminded me of the image I'd prided myself in, being tough as stone, willing to walk through the pain. But courage wasn't the absence of pain, so I shook at the thought. He was who I'd left behind after making those broad and awing changes. He was the past I fought so hard against looking back on, as if it would be crippling poison to my mind.

I would almost inevitably die a prisoner. It was crushing to know this was my reward for being a good person. I hated good and evil now. The Champion's words were finally starting to sink in.

_NO!_ I was **Fights-up-close;** I had always maintained a will of iron, as I pledged to. If I didn't escape I'd die trying. These were only the first few hours of captivity. I would not submit, that was the mark of evil. The Argonian Royal Court moved people away from the feelings they deserved, so they must be fought. With simple, unrelenting will anyone could be something amazing. It was a matter of decision, not strength.

If I couldn't think of anything before my ex-mentor's arrival, maybe I could escape when they tried to kill me afterwards.

Or maybe the Legionary could save me...

(Densius Fidelis): Outside Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

The world was purple through the night-eye helmet I was given for this assignment.

Frantically pushed back outdoors, some part of me was still not quite sure it was right to stand for this. It was a blow that was all the more frustrating because it came just when I expected relaxation. Even the possibility of talking to Soch-Eena about my problems had gone down the drain. Now there was only the company of the crickets.

They'd sent me out with a bag of nuts but the hunger was gone and eating would just remind me I was submitting to them. Submitting to them: another poke of frustration came with the thought.

But objection would make me suspect, and then I'd be a captive too.

With all the concern about my presence they demonstrated, they were probably watching the perimeter right now. I began walking.

My mind shifted to Soch-Eena, or, more specifically, her imprisonment.

Should I attempt a rescue? I hated having these decisions thrown at me, especially when I wasn't granted time to rest. If I attempted a rescue and was caught, as was likely, neither of us could benefit from that. But she was an ally, one who knew the Argonian language; only she had some chance of finding proof. And what if they tried to get information out of her? She'd be in worlds of pain that it was hard to imagine compensating; but no, if they were planning to release her days later, they wouldn't want to create an enemy by treating her roughly...unless they thought she could be sufficiently intimidated to go back to working for them.

Stepping off the planks and turning the corner, the stairs to the basement were visible, perpendicular to me. That was probably the prison level. That door was iconic of the current troubles. Though it was a sliver from this angle, it was still a gaping hole to change.

_I'm not trained in infiltration._

_These are exceptional circumstances._ There was no way to find the proof without her.

Thinking about her rescue, my position bounced back and forth. There were atleast hours to think this over, but it was a big and extremely consequential decision. I could put on a show of free will and jolt out of the path Sudeeda had set for me, breaking into the prison, yet there was no reason to believe that was smart.

No matter which path I took, failure of this assignment, dreadfully, was probable.

I ached in the dilemma, my stride mechanical but mind astir.

The rest of the night would be devoted to thinking about this...and even that felt like an inadequate tax on my mind given what was at stake.

I looked over at the basement door while passing it. It had a lock. That little piece of metal would mean this would require much more of me than a simple raid. It would be necessary to find a key first, and that would likely require a lot of discreetness.

Success of this mission seemed all the more far fetched, requiring so many acute feats. Even thinking about _her rescue_ seemed more like a sort of game I was playing with myself, a burden so I couldn't feel cowardly even though the answer was clear.

Regardless, even if the Elder Council's tasks were likely to end in failure, the impact of success would be much more consequential. I could be behind an achievement that would bring big rewards to history.

I would either complete my mission or die trying, and I was numb to death right now, not feeling that kind of dread I had when I stood out in the opened in the final skirmish in Elsweyr. It would be failure that would hurt, a pain I couldn't bare to live through.


	27. Shipping Route

"The Dwemer (Dwarves), free-thinking, reclusive Elven clans devoted to the secrets of science, engineering, and alchemy..."

-Timeline Series - Vol 1, Before the Ages of Man

Sun's Dusk 7, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Northern Central Swamps, Black Marsh

* * *

There was a certain social burning that dug deep and sharp into me. Even this late in the evening, I barely had an appetite. On the contrary, it was as if I wanted to empty my digestive system.

With all this quite time, the decision not to attempt a rescue of Soch-Eena kept getting reanalyzed. I felt something rotten inside. Sometimes the feeling would fade, like this problem was my own artificial construct, but the reality of the situation always came back. Behind me, she might be suffering horribly. They must have been detaining her to somehow uncover her true allegiance, so with every passing second they were more likely to uncover our plans, or at least permanently remove her from them. This wasn't a game.

Yet there was no reason to believe it was worth the risk to go back. I had no plan yet. I'd need to get to know the palace before I did anything, and that could only be done when they expected me to be here.

But even after coming to the same conclusion repeatedly, there was something inside me that wouldn't shut up. It kept repeating that there was real risk of mission failure behind me, this wasn't some self-imposed problem. This was real. And the longer I sat here, the more likely it would be for the Argonian Royal Court to have compromised our mission.

Yet I had a conclusion that had never been debunked. I was being irrational, so hopefully that Argonian team would arrive before I could change my mind.

The trees were blackened against a fiery, layered sky, and it was likely they'd arrive here to eat dinner, but already it was late.

Knowing there was the slightest chance I'd come to the wrong place, I consulted the map again. There was only one red-line coming out of Morrowind, and the last dot on that line before it reached the palace had Cyrodillic writing scribbled on by Sudeeda, "Near L-shaped pond", under its Argonian caption. An L-shaped pond was indeed close by. This was the right place, and I'd realized that several times already.

But what else could be learned from this intricate map? It was a handicap not to understand Argonian, but one could intuitively identify certain components of the map. The red lines were shipping routes. The brown squares were buildings, and there was one in close proximity to four different Argonian cities. The yellow circles seemed to be approximations of tribal territory. Information like this seemed like it should be buried deep in their chain of command, showing the complexity of their existence, but I was holding it. Were they in that much of a rush to get me out of the palace? They must have been extremely frantic.

Maybe this was sufficient proof for Ocato, or a link to proof. Maybe Chancellor Ocato would accept this, at least after they could investigate the ends of those shipping routes. If so, that was one part of this assignment complete. Now my work could be more linear. Some stress left me. I imagined showing Ocato this map, pointing at the red lines and telling him they were shipping lanes. Then he'd say _"We'll send a team to investigate those areas and see what turns up. Your payment is pending on what we find." _Yes, this was heartening. Maybe an end was finally starting to dawn. Maybe this one little mistake by the Argonian Royal Court could kill them, and maybe I could still be part of a massive historical transformation that would make everything else in my life seem innocuous.

But even so, the cure came first, if it existed. Proof was no longer a variable, a good thing, but I'd have to follow through with this assignment Sudeeda had given me, and there were still many uncertainties ahead; if they learned of my intentions before giving me the cure, failure was nearly inevitable. The situation was still daunting. Yet subtle and acute maneuvers by me could mean broad changes in Tamrielic history. Once the Legion came to Argonia to tare down this regime, they would surely be able to free Soch-Eena, though whether she would be killed before then was definitely unknowable.

Studying the map some more...there was a marking on the Southern Coasts of what was visible of Cyrodiil. Square like the buildings but, blue. It wasn't clear what those were.

I recalled there was something on the back of the map I'd never checked out. With a new feeling of rich opportunity, I flipped it over:

It was a larger scale map, a map of all the known world. There a few blue squares on the coasts of Cyrodiil. In the water there were some: brown diamonds on circular lines...naval patrol patterns. A shipping route, the only one on the map, seemed to avoid them, traveling a huge distance West, until it arrived on what appeared to be a small nation made of a cluster of islands above Summerset Isle. It was labeled in Argonian, and it didn't look familiar either. Still, that had to be important, and no doubt someone in Cyrodiil would recognize it.

With the opportunity this map presented, my mind was clean, soft, and progressive:

A small city state might be aware of the Argonian Royal Court; this really was a matter of inter-provincial scale, and it was awing to think of something so high-profile happening right under the Empire's nose. The thought they must have put into maintaining their existence spurred a sort of admiration for them, but complexity meant fragility.

My thoughts were immersive in a way they hadn't been in too long, but it was broken by chatter and footsteps. That was the party transporting Dwemer equipment.

It would feel odd to talk after two days of silence. I prepared my words. Considering my arrival was unscheduled, there would be a lot to tell them. Did they even know the Argonian Royal Court had a captive human? If not, our meeting would have quite a lot of psychic oomph.

Then something else hit me; would they even know Cyrodiillic? Would it be necessary to mime everything, only able to push out blips of understanding with each passing second between us?

I felt out of place here.

As the features of the Argonians became defined, it meant they could see me too. I would need to speak soon. I held up the map.

Their movements became a bit less brisk, their actions softened and faces soured quizzically.

"Sudeeda sent me to help." Carefully forming my mouth around every syllable, waving the map, wondering if the words meant anything to them.

They slowed to a stop and exchanged glances, no movements sharp or prominent. They talked in hushed voices to each other.

They probably didn't understand. How brazenly disingenuous the Argonian Royal Court had been for shoving me into this assignment! Now that 'slap-in-the-face' feeling was returning, a bit of anger starting to bubble in me.

They all looked back at me.

One spoke in broken Cyrodiillic "We were not told of...person come to help."

It was relieving he spoke my language.

"It was a surprise for me too. I think it was a last minute decision." I replied. He took some time to process the words through the filter of his weak understanding of the language.

Then he turned back as if to confer lightly with his buddies again. But I spoke up, "She gave me this map, to prove it. To prove that she sent me, I mean."

The Cyrodillic-speaker turned back to me and began approaching. As he came through the brush, he was carrying a piece of equipment with his arm on his left side. He had a sheathed sword on his right. I held out the map, which was now in the orange glow of the torch. He spent a couple of seconds studying it.

He said "Yes...", then looked up. "Is our map."

He sighed, shifted his gaze down again, and rubbed his chin. Evidently this was a change they weren't going to fluently adapt to, but even through the language barrier there was a sense of connection forming between us, given we were both being crassly shoved into this situation because of the palace's shady agenda. The bugs chirped and the torch crackled as he thought, and I awaited an assignment.

Then he turned his head so that he could probably see his fellows out of the corner of his eyes but still keep me somewhat fassened to the conversation. So ensued a discussion, no doubt it was about how to tack me onto their already completed plan. A background role, probably. I tried to look humble, wanting them to know I wouldn't try to be a parasite.

The conversation covered a wide range of sentence lengths, pitch changes, and occasional interruptions.

A bug bite on my arm itched, I scratched it.

A hackwing cried overhead, though I knew it could never get an angle on me from the where I was.

Finally, he turned back to face me. "We...will make this...simple for you. After we...set our equipment down, you guard. You understand this?"

I nodded, realizing in mid-motion that it might not have been an inter-cultural sign for 'Yes'. "Yes," I said aloud.

"Is good." He replied, then turned his head again and called back to his buddies. Essentially I was being left out of their little bubble, only attached enough to make sure we'd get back to the palace together. This whole guard-the-equipment thing was probably more to keep me in some kind of procedure than anything else.

The three behind started approaching as the Cyrodillic-speaker crouched down gently to set the complex metal device he was carrying on the ground, heavy metal onto soft terrain.

Then he turned to face his co-workers as they approached. Each had a weapon sheathed and Dwemer device in hand or at their sides. The two with the smallest devices had back-packs. They all set their artifacts down as well.

As they stood back up, the man I'd spoken to began to talk to them. Some weariness was visible in all their faces, but they still stood at attention. I had an unpleasant flash of empathy at how all that walking felt.

Then they began walking away of into the distance, four torches tinting the leaves orange.

Sudeeda and her superiors must have been sorting out a lot back by the lake, obviously I was a useless addition to this group.

Being a parasite felt awkward, childish, but they must have been just as curious about what was going on in the palace. Thinking back on Sudeeda's panic, it seemed the higher Argonians must have foreseen their organization unraveling if they didn't act fast, hence this crappy assignment. Maybe that meant _our_ operation might be unraveling right now as well. Maybe now it was a race. But I couldn't move any faster than them, and they couldn't know I was worried.

None the less, it would be nice to sleep with some company tonight. This swamp was creepy when it got dark; last night had been pretty unpleasant, I felt a gaze on the back of my neck no matter which way I rolled.

The rustling of the Argonians was almost too soft to hear now. With the four were gone, I was left alone to reflect again:

A lot could change by my hand in the coming days, and my spirit was somewhat refreshed by that. Rich times were ahead. If that map was proof, being sent out on this assignment had a worthy silver lining. The Argonian Royal Court may have just handed me my greatest weapon against them. There was a blunt power about this piece of paper, even with its rawly dry appearance. The issue of the cure still presented an obstacle to work around: would they withhold it from me because they suspected Soch-Eena? Was it even real? That was unclear, but I'd secured half my mission.

Picking up the map again, my eyes moved North of Summerset Isle, back to where the red line ended.


	28. Own Plane

A/N: Okay, once agian I wasn't terribly meticulous with this chapter. I relied on my instincts more than in a lot of previous chapter. More than anything I'd like to know how this chapter compares to the rest of the story, especially mental descriptions. If there is to be a casualty in my new writing style, I've always suspected that part of my writing would be it.

Oh, and sorry for the delay. I know, for one chapter, this took a while. I don't expect the next two chapters out in a month, but the next release should come out relatively faster.

UPDATE: Apparently I forgot to put the date on the chapter. Well, it's there now.

UPDATE # 2: I edited this chapter to comply with BlackJack's advice and also fixed an error Inoticed myself.

UPDATE # 3: I just realized that I put the hunter's name translated in a scene with Fidelis' POV. Since he doesn't know Argonian that doesn't make sense, so I went back and fixed it.

"Uriel Septim VII has worked diligently to renew the battles that would reunite Tamriel. Tharn's interference broke the momentum, it is true -- but the years since then have proven that there is hope of the Golden Age of Tiber Septim's rule glorifying Tamriel once again." – A Brief History of the Empire, Part Four

Sun's Dusk 8, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): North West of the Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

With aching shins, we were close to being back indoors, the great change.

Last night felt like a dream. I'd woken up disoriented, with thoughts rushing, given all that I'd concluded; the impossible task of finding the proof was complete. The accomplishment had fueled a lot of new thoughts to flower.

I had realized Soch-Eena's grievous slip up had occurred when she was asked her name, and gave her real one. It seemed that name was known to them, and they detained her because of it. Now a superior of her's must have been coming over to confirm her identity. I'd be reunited with her in a week according to Sudeeda, and that allowed just the right amount of time for my theory to take place: Soch-Eena had worked in Gideon, and it took us about three days to get from Gideon to Helstrom. It would take a messenger three days to get to Gideon as well and three days for whoever he summoned to arrive.

They'd withhold the cure from me until she was cleared of their suspicions, which wouldn't happen. I'd need to get the cure alone, probably before the week was over because once their suspicions were confirmed we could both be killed: a cautious way of eliminating potential threat to their delicate quasi-government.

Finding the substance would be a tough task, but perhaps I'd accomplished tougher already. The map was a symbol of the ability of me, one agent of the Empire, to defeat an entire rogue government.

Sudeeda would likely ask for the map back. It was too precious to take the risk of carrying with me; I'd have to drop it somewhere by the palace without them noticing. Then I'd say I lost it; I'd mentally conjured many failsafe dialogue scenarios for that. The palace wasn't far now, so I was tensing up by the minute.

The time of trial and determinacy couldn't be more a few minutes away. Once a wall of the palace was visible my trial, hiding the map, would begin. None of those four knew the significance of what would happen behind them. We were in two different worlds.

The rigid structure of a wall could be seen through the trees. The presence of consequence, danger, and free-will could be felt.

The group had their minds on the palace, oblivious and exhausted, but I surveyed the bushes, each a potential hiding spot. There was a U-shaped cluster of shrubbery, a promising spot. My breaths got shallow.

Removing the paper, my upper and lower half felt like they were controlled by two different people, the lower imitating the three infront of me, the upper being the maverick.

Between my fleshy right palm and scaly left palm, I crumpled the map even smaller. The crumpling noise, which invited attention, was like breaking glass to me, cutting through the air.

But still all I saw were the backs of their heads. Yes, this could be done, it would be done.

Soon I'd be closed enough to the bushes to drop the map, which would cause me to lose the current of the group.

But this was the last step to securing the proof.

Biting my lip, chest tight, there was a funny, light feeling in the bones of my fore arms.

This was it. I stopped, losing the current. I dropped the crumpled paper, which seemed to sink surreally slow. The pull of the group could be felt. Then the paper was resting on two unphased branches. Its color contrasted sharply with the surroundings. Would it really be hidden? Tension reemerged, I'd have to see it from their angle to know. Just a glance back...

Walking again, it seemed like such a significant chunk of distance had been made between me and group. I subtly increased my speed, poking on the threshold of running but not breaking it.

Back in my previous relative position, I briefly rotated to look back at the bush, stopping again.

But no white could be seen. Blissful security permeated me. I increased my walking speed again. The proof was safe with the plants, with the group none the wiser. I'd just have to remember that bush. One of the most important events in Argonian history had just taken place quietly behind their backs, by their servant's hand.

But now they were all heading towards the door that dug into ground, the basement, where I suspected Soch-Eena was being held. My previous feelings began to fade. She was down there, confined, helplessly awaiting death as I continued with the mission. With proof found, her rescue went from seeming like a necessary task, to a foolish blunder that could cost me my welcome and nullify the precious opportunity stumbled upon. The stakes of the mission's success were much bigger than her, but there was still a rotten feeling in my stomach.

I followed just like before, but feelings transforming drastically. Images of her existence, the suffering I'd been disregarding, flashed. Her situation once again began permeating my consciousness, along with an insistence there was something I should be doing, rather than coldy going about on my own plane of reality.

Then they began their way down the stairs. If they would open this door, was this an opportunity? Many forces were bombarding my mind.

Then _I_ was going down the steps.

The Cyrodillic-speaker dug through his pocket, then sort of turned to me and said "Tell Sudeeda we arrived." His gaze burned with a seriousness that showed I wasn't welcomed in the basement. Perhaps this wasn't an opportunity.

That was relieving.

The door opened to reveal a bare stone floor, the same stone Soch-Eena must have been seeing. The eyes of the Cyrodiillic-speaker had a sort of stern grimness, a quiet threat perhaps, as the others piled in.

Then the door was closed and I was shut out of their world, left out here to figure out how to get in there another day.

I turned, mind stuck on the opportunity that just disapeared and knowing gaze of the worker.

But standing on the steps, it seemed maybe there was still something to take out of what I'd seen: That man had the key to the basement. Taking it covertly, perhaps I could sneak into the basement on a quiet and weary night and free my companion.

No! I'd already concluded the most logical course of action! Staying in my own world and blocking her out meant this organization really could fall by my hand, and maybe the daunting task of opening up Black Marsh would happen before the end of the month. That was much bigger than her. The sight of the door had stirred up my mind, but I couldn't give any attention to stimuli induced thoughts. They needed to be stuffed back in. I needed to forget about Soch-Eena.

Clenching my fists, my eyes felt odd, a slight indication of tears brewing beneath the surface at the fact that, when I'd already pulled off a task so difficult, the glory was sullied.

Realizing how long I'd been on the steps, I began moving again.

Back at ground level, the vast array of trees and countless shrubs were all encompassed in the embrace of the sunset, the odd colors making it look like staring into a plane of Oblivion. My actions during the coming days could cast a change over all the land.

The impossible might be possible. I just had to swallow my bitter feelings. One day the Empire would see Helstrom too. I had to remember that.

A strange rhythmic noise of an unknown creature echoed in the distance.

But the reflective stop had gone on too long, so I got my mind back into more acute circumstances. Sudeeda was in her office, waiting. I'd predicted the coming conversation about the map many times, planning to say _"Uh, yeah. I think I dropped it somewhere out in the wilderness."_ Then, in the next few hours, the long, weighty, epic day would fade to a close.

Getting a move on, I turned. The plank path was ahead. There was a sharpness in my throat, but I let it fade. Planks close, some black fuzz, a tiny bug, darted around my eye.

My shoes touched the dry planks, which felt extra hard after so much time on soggy ground. The mudroom was close.

Opening the door and stepping back inside, I turned and closed it.

Removing my shoe, I grinded its back against the floor and got my foot into fresh-air with feeling of relief. The other foot was similarly liberated.

Opening the door to the hallway, the stairs were the destination. I began the walk, taking rapidly suceeding turns while weaving past unknown faces. After this obligatory meeting, a new, largely mental and free-form stage of this mission would begin: thinking up some complex and clever operation to take a sample of the cure, wherever that was, without them knowing. Quite a task, but I had days to think up the procedure.

Making it to the stairs, I thrusted up each step. Soon she'd ask for the map I'd hidden, but the sly words _"Uh, yeah. I think I dropped it somewhere out in the wilderness."_ would weave past yet another obstacle.

Arriving at the second floor, I tried to imagine her words; _"May I have the map back, please?" _That would be the queue for the prepared line.

In the office hall, the knob on her door was the center of my focus. I tensed a bit. It was very close now.

I opened the door. There she was; now to deceive her, to make this disingenuous game go both ways.

But there were two meals of pasta waiting at her desk, much to my surprise. Mind jolted, it stopped to remold to this new plan for dinner, and likely an informative discussion. But first I had my original tasks to get out of the way, even if in a new scenario.

I got to the chair, sat, and spoke "The guys told me to tell you they were back. They're, uh, putting the equipment in the basement."

"Good." She replied "I would like the map back, if you please." The queue.

Looking firmly into her vertical pupils I said "Uh, yeah. I think I dropped it somewhere out in the wilderness." my ears sensitive. Expressionless faces on both of us, a silence came over the room while my mind rushed over those words, repeating them, the tone, and the filler '_uh'_.

Then she said "Ah, well," fidgeting in her seat a little while mentally adjusting to the surprise.

Her manner then sounded almost rehearsed, "I am sure you must be hungry from your lengthy walk here. And tired too, perhaps." I hadn't originally, actually feeling a sort of rushing in mind and body, but the words made me feel a bit of both. "I think this would be a good time to discuss your next assignment, as opposed to scheduling one more appointment."

She was drastically more collected than last time, but another assignment was a significant stressor, squeezing the time to plan to maneuver through the rich difficulties of finding the cure. It must have been thrown in the way to keep me out of here. She continued "I am assuming, as an adventurer, you have hunted before." _As an adventurer. _That felt odd.

"Yes," I said, the hunt with M'Nahrahe recollected, truth ironically fitting well with deception.

"You will be spending the next three days paired with one of our own hunters, bringing back two species of creatures to the palace in set quantities." Her eyes then shifted downward and she got something from her desk. I realized I hadn't touched the pasta yet. I looked down at the meal and twisted up a forkful.

Not knowing what to expect, I put it in my mouth. The sweet and spicy sauce really jumped out.

Then the rustling of paper ended. "One of these creatures can prove highly lethal to an unexperienced operative, but we have seen you posses competent fighting abilities when we witnessed your encounter with the hostile tribals." She put the paper down on the desk and pointed to one of the creatures, a hackwing. There was a trace amount of tension in me. "It has extremely sharp talons and exceptionally acute eye sight."

Her finger moved to another odd looking creature, with two prominent, scaly, frog-like legs, flat teeth, and no arms "The second should prove little trouble to you, it is a herbivore which uses its legs both for speedy movement and to jump to high leaves on the trees."

The sketches were highly structured, carrying an aura of research and professional. She continued "Allow me to brief you in more detail about their behaviors..."

(**Fights-up-close**): Subterranian prison, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

The sounds of various moving parts in that mysterious room off to the right indicated it was once again the sole source activity and development down here.

**"Is this the suction?" **

**"Yeah."**

Some mechanical noises followed: insertions, intentional hitting of metal and metal, soft grinding and screwing. Were they putting together some kind of machine? All I could get were noises.

There was a rattling was followed by **"Where'd you put the magicka intensifier?"** There was a brief silence, then footsteps, and something was picked up.

**"So, can we get going now?"** Another voice asked with an optimistic twang.

**"Yes, I believe that's all we need."**

Footsteps indicated the four visitors starting to leave, one clearing his throat. They went up the steps. Then they opened the door, once again casting the light that paled the dead stone here, a reminder of the rich world of life above, before it was back to the same sinister orange of the torchlight.

Then the one off to the right creaked closed, putting us back in two different worlds, barring me from the noises.

They were doing research in there, something pushing along the Argonian Royal Court's agenda.

Yelling would hurt their concentration, even if only a little. But it was hard to imagine simply yelling to make noise here: it felt idiotic and insane. Tension came as I was entering another period of dilemma. Was I about to pass over virtue in the name of ego? Or would I push the voice out of my throat? There must have been important research going on there that could blossom into massive injustice, and every second was part of this moral test.

_No! _That had been my pain-induced instability manifesting itself again. _If I stay on good terms with them, they'll be less onguard with me, increasing my chances of escape. _

But what was behind that epiphany? Did it simply float in the blackness of my mind? Did making them like me really make my escape more probable? Was this the path of cowardice?

_No! I'll look less like the enemy, and therefore be treated less like their enemy!_

There was a brief second of satisfaction at the logic.

Then returned the feeling I was shunning something bigger than me.

_Feeling. _That supposedly courageous path was what was really motivated by emotion. The self-doubt had to be blocked out. This was a moral dilemma indeed, and silencing my mind was the right choice.

I needed to stop digging into my thoughts. Now it felt like I needed to catch my breath while plugging my leaking mind.

Slowly my breaths became regular, and my heart beat started to calm. I focused on the physical, looking at the metal bars of the empty cell across from me. Only the humming silence could be heard as the tension faded.

I'd managed to defeat my mind again, but it seemed as long as I was suffering, these crazy thoughts would hover below the surface. I was wrong to think eating dinner would bring contentment; my mind just looked for a new problem, so all I got were these nerve-racking, irrational impulses of moral paranoia. It was the product of the pain. Would I lash out of the flow of things and manifest one of these mad ideas eventually? While idle, my mind lost its protective coating, exposing its abrasive center, one waiting to paint every painful task with bizarre and radical justifications.

External circumstances were no longer intimidating. What was scary was where my unstable mind might take me.

For now escape was totally out of _my_ hands no matter how much I clawed to prove otherwise, but perhaps in the hands of Densius.

All those cynical thoughts about him as a Legionary made me feel a sort of guilt in the pit of my stomach. Now it was oddly like I missed him. There was a certain comfort in his proximity that made my mind soft and fluent.

He was somewhere above. What could he be doing? Was he planning my break-out, or leaving me forsaken? Would he ever break down that door and take me back into the bright, opened world andcure this itch for freedom that was driving me to dig into every mental construct out of fear it was complacency of the misguided? Would there be pleasures to calm and stabilize soon? The mere thought produced some happiness, for a couple seconds only though.

Would the confrontation with** Learns-fast** ensue? The thought brought fear: a sickening, acidic fear in my gut that'd become very familiar in this new loveless world. Today was likely the day he'd recieve notification. His mind would be an explosive storm in Gideon while I sat here useless and stagnant, having long harbored the information that would flood his mind today.

(**Learns-fast**): Gideon Sanctuary, Black Marsh

* * *

_First, we must understand why this conflict has gone from being waged primarily in the "stolen" Lake Makapi area to becoming largely a rebellion within Elsweyr itself, and therefore more of a war against the Mane than the Count of Leyawiin:_

_The current Mane has always been unusually sympathetic towards the Empire, making a rather abrupt change from the ways of his predecessor. Most would agree this was first manifested by the deal with the Count of Leyawiin to officially recognize the West Nibenese territory, often mentioned in Renrijra Krin propaganda, as part of County Leyawiin after a century and a half of deadlock._

_The Mane's second large decision which many of the khajiit of Elsweyr considered counter-nationalistic was the abolition of its long tradition of semi-isolation. Elsweyr has, for almost as long, tried to preserve cultural purity by largely barring itself from outside influence, banning import of foreign books and other culturally stylized products from abroad (especially Cyrodiil and Valenwood), even though this is believed to have a very poor impact on their economy. Before Ka'Raska's reign, this practice had been quickly spreading South. However, after much negotiating with local governments, these bans have been partially lifted by Ka'Raska, with talks for further action still in progress. This decision not only allowed the import of many alien products to the province, but has also allowed many guilds to establish branches in Elsweyr._

_But most recently, during the Oblivion Crisis, Ka'Raska requested small numbers of Imperial Legion troops to be moved to cities in Elsweyr, something unheard of since before Elsweyr's rebellion from the Septim Empire. Though the attention was obviously focused on the Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis, the Legion remained during the aftermath to ensure security in badly damaged areas, and later became a counter to the internal forces of insurgency; By this time, Renrijra Krin attacks had almost unanimously shifted to territory within Elsweyr, and intensified significantly._

_It is generally believed that these three major legislations during Ka'Raska's reign are the primary reason he is largely understood either as a puppet of the Empire or a visionary for Elsweyr's sovereign and mutually beneficial integration into the Tamrielic community. __However, given that the Mane has little real power in the Elsweyri governmental system, Ka'Raska was forced to rely heavily on the cooperation of local leaders, which_

Jerked out of the world of Cyro-Elsweyri politics, the knock on the door had jolted me. It was not the signature double-knock of my messenger, either.

Irregularity had clearly encroached upon the mundane world of my office. Who could be behind the door?

I said "**Come in**," in a flimsy voice.

The door opened to reveal a Finned man with a letter in his hand. As he walked, he said "**Letter from the palace**," He placed it down on the desk "**It's real important."**

He turned to leave, footsteps creaking on the floor. Another message from the palace? There must have been a lot buzzing around there.

The man closed the door. His muffled footsteps faded, leaving me in silence with the letter.

For them to contact me now meant something in the palace made quite a clatter. That was an ominous omen; my breaths got shallow.

I reluctantly moved my eyes towards the letter, the last thoughts of Elsweyr dissolving as I was presented with a message from the palace-residents.

**_To Learns-fast, the administrator of the Cyrodiillic Shadowscale Branch,_**

**_Hi! _**

**_I am the overseer of the Shadowscales which were brought to the Palace a little while ago. I was told to write to you about a weird thing that took place here that I think you would be concerned about. _**

**_So, here's what happened. Recently we had two mysterious visitors from the central swamps. An Imperial (yes, an Imperial!) male and a young Argonian woman claiming to be adventurers (we have a theory on how the Imperial survived the disease, but I'm not supposed to talk about it will-nilly). So we made a deal with both of them, keeping them here (at the palace) so they'd do work for us. _**

_**Anyway, what I wanted to write to you about was that Snipes-with-**crossbow _**_saw the young woman one evening and said (basically) she'd been one of your agents that you recently sent off to Cyrodiil! "Fights-up-close" was her name._ **

**_How could this be!? Do you think he'd lie? I'm not sure._**

**_We want you to come down and see her for yourself so we know if it's really true. I'm sure you'd recognize her if it is!_**

**_Some people here seem really worried, so try to make it here fast!_**

**_From First-to-greet (I think we'll meet soon!)_**

**Fights-up-close!** I took my eyes from the page in the intense surge of sharp emotions. She was still alive, and made it to the very center of our organization in a matter of months.

Feeling the vastness of the world this would echo through, it all seemed surreal. Was this a nightmare I would wake up from? The Shadowscale who showed signs of insubordination, whose closest bond had been formed with a defector, and who knew I'd never vindicated Lachance had been caught in a place even I was forbidden from!? And did that mean she'd let the traitor kill the Black Hand when I sent her there to stop him?

The bugs outside chirped indifferently. It was tempting to just surrender flow of the world now. There was an urge to just sit here and never get up.

She'd been free of any superiors with a mind astir with rebellious thoughts. Now she'd penetrated the very heart of our organization with some weird Imperial, maybe caught just before slitting the King's throat. She was my responsibility, and proved my second subject to go rogue. Worse, she had incriminating secrets that could spill out any time: the reality that conflicted with the story in the minds of **Cleaver** and **Surveys-from-above.**

The thought of reading more brought sharp tension.

**First-to-greet's** bubbling and innocent demeanor might soon be shattered when she, there was a female aura to that letter, found out about my explosive failures and transgressions.

Traveling to the palace...this was all so surreal, all swirling around.

And it took a few days for the messenger to arrive; what might have happened during that time? That was a very worrying question.

A storm was brewing in the center of Argonia, so much to deal with, because I'd let emotion win at Bravil and given into irrationality, undamming these horrors.

If they'd questioned her they might already know her part of the story of what I'd done.

Staying stagnant was tempting, just giving up on the world.

But no doubt the appeal of such an action would wear thin soon. It would be necessary to get up, move forward, and confront the destruction my failures reeked.

At least now perhaps I'd learn what the palace was doing with the Shadowscales, though sating curiousity couldn't feel very enticing when staring at these humongous tempests I created for myself.

Standing up, I hadn't even begun to think of what would be necessary for this journey. It would be at least three days...

That small letter had quite a shockwave, but with a three day journey to think on this, maybe there was some way to contain it.

(Densius Fidelis): Sudeeda's Office

* * *

I swallowed once again as she chewed. Now I felt a lot more exhausted, perhaps because my nerves and exhilaration had faded. Then _she_ swallowed. "You will meet Wuka-Jeenusie in the armory. From there you are to follow his instructions to the letter."

That sounded like the end of the briefing. It was time to get up. Feeling content and wholesome, I pushed out my chair and stood up saying "Okay, I'll be ready tomorrow." Standing magnified the already heavy exhaustion.

"Good." She replied simply.

Turning towards the door with our meeting over, it seemed a good idea to rest the evening away, reflecting on the words absorbed today and go fall into slumber so they could be applied to actions tomorrow.

My head swam, no fast or rigid thoughts or movements. Opening the door, I felt like I was staring straight through everything. Opening my mouth wide in a rich yawn, I continued down the hall.

But something starting nagging in the back of my mind, until a bit of worry hit as I realized the days until the end of the week were slipping away so fast, the days I was going to use to find the cure.

Yet a good night sleep would make it easier to think about while hunting tomorrow.

It would be no struggle to obtain, too. It would be easy fall in the thick blackness that waited, casually dissolving my previous plans for the night to indulge this feeling, to wake up soon in the next occupied day.


	29. Mental Storm

A/N: I know this chapter was short, but I figured a chapter that was too short was better than a chapter with scenes that don't add to the plot. Maybe someone disagrees. Anyway, I tried to make this chapter less "choppy". Tell me if I did it right, BlackJack.

"'Hackwings,' Chaero Gemullus, an Imperial on Scotti's left, who might have been young but looked old and beaten, muttered. 'Like everything else in this damnable place, they'll eat you if you don't keep moving. Beggars pounce down and give you a nasty chop, and then fly off and come back when you're mostly dead from blood loss.'" - The Argonian Account, Book Two

UPDATE: I just realized the hunter's name was translated in a scene that came from Fidelis' POV. This doesn't make sense given that he doesn't know Argonian, so I fixed this error.

Sun's Dusk 9, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Room Forty, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

Looking in the mirror, the scar was an ugly and awkward addition to my mouth. It was a macabre continuation of it, reminding me of some kind of necromancer's experiment. It would have been a nice show of toughness if it was a small, slick, and classy slash on side of the face, but it wasn't. It brought images of the opening it once had been, making me feel vulnerable, not intimidating.

Back in Cyrodiil I would be quiet an attention getter with this ugly scar and the scales spreading up to my fingers and around to the back of my hand. This appearance was shameful, but what I could accomplish here might transform those traits to quaintness in the eyes of the Cyrodiils. Here, though, they only made a freak.

But there were no blemishes that could be rubbed away, so the morning preparations were complete. It was time to head down to the armory.

Self view disappearing in the blur of a turn, I headed for the door.

Opening it and going into the halls, the scaly backs of heads meant others were probably also going to the duties that earned their keep.

Soon I'd be busy again, no quiet time to think. Regret of going to bed early last night came back like a kick in the stomach. Now I was back to occupied time, anguishing about the hours slipping away with only tiny, pathetic dregs of a plan for finding the cure.

Turning the corner and heading for the stairs, it was scary the week would soon be over and Soch-Eena and I would be compromised. More than twenty-four hours had already slipped through my hands like water; that made me frustrated, slightly teary even.

Pounding down the stairs with some suppressed momentum, I hoped it would be easy to mentally recede when out with the hunter. Hopefully Wuka-Jeenusie wouldn't talk much, with long stretches before we found any of the two creatures.

Arriving at the bottom floor, the left corner witnessed my sharp turn as momentum dried up.

The armory door was just out of view due to the odd layout of the area, which if not for the odd room in the center would have looked like a lounge.

I was all the hunter wanted me to be, perfectly adequate in my duties. But those were just my physical duties, they were simple stressors to overcome so the stormy and epic problems of my mind could be sorted out.

The armory door was in view.

Others giving passing glances, I opened the door. It revealed walls thoroughly decorated with racks of weapons coming in countess shapes, sizes, and complexities.

A man, with a necklace that held a sharp, curved tooth against his bare chest said "You must be the Imperial everyone been talking about." in a heavy accent. He was holding three bottles in one hand, bottoms pointing each in their own direction. It was an unnaturally volumous load for a single hand. His belt also held a few too, as well as bolts for a crossbow that was in his other hand. "I already sorted out the equipment, so am all prepared to take more fetchers down." Cursing sounded odd in a thick foreign accent, but language barrier didn't prevent him from letting his sharp toughness show through.

I looked down at the potions. They were labeled in Argonian. "Minor wound healing and two hour and a half feather potions, both will lighten load by a hundred pounds." Which was which? But then logic made it clear the two with identical names must be the feather potions. "Take a crossbow and few bolts from a rack also: I know you can do magic too, but a ball of frost not as quick and sure as a bolt through brain." brutality embraced callously.

Looking up from the potions, I glanced to the right. Crossbows, in all their sophisticated glory, were only one type of weapon on that wall: a whole assortment of weapons for ranged combat were there in the green glow of magical light: staves, bows, and blow dart guns, proximity intertwined with similarity. A militaristic feast, though little could be sampled. This armory might be pleasant place to hang out for a while if only access on whim was permitted.

I walked towards the crossbows, all one type given how expensive they were.

Ready to pick one up, I transferred the potions to my left hand and grabbed a bow. I held it with one hand, enjoying the powerful feeling, and looked down at the table with the bolts. Various specializations celebrated the depth and variety in the arsenal of modern war. There were standard bolts, glowing bolts, metal-tipped bolts-

Metal tipped bolts; memories of Elsweyr froze me and dissolved the old mood. My spirits turned sullen and muddy.

"Standard darts you take: the ones on the left most." The hunter said. Reality had continued without me. He was oblivious to the things that had resurfaced in my mind. Half concious of the physical world, mind still in the blurry images of Cicero falling with macabre indifference, I mechanically moved a hand to one of the four-bolt bundles.

Reality jolted me again: the three potions were in my right hand.

They could go on my armor. The bottles could be strapped to the leather to get a shakey hold the belts were included with in mind. I put the crossbow on the table. One hand awkwardly undoing a belt, I put the three bottles against the armor, then creatively pressed and stretched with my fingers to fasten the bottles. It felt makeshift even if it was what professionals did. But it was stable. The bundle of bolts got picked up.

"Okay," the hunter said "now just follow my orders and you'll be back here with all your parts. Walk behind me."

He pushed the door opened as I was feeling like a child or trainee.

He was probably heading for the mudroom. Diversely clothed Argonians were heading into various rooms. This was likely an Argonian Royal rush hour. I too was going to a day-job. Now he was near the door.

He pulled it opened, leaving its position for me to walk in with the duty to close it.

I did so and saw he was putting on footwear so I began doing the same.

Once finished, I turned back to him. He opened the door to the outside.

I followed, dragging the door closed behind myself. His presence made me feel small and awkward.

But that uselessness was probably for the better: while in the background I'd have peace to think about the cure.

He turned off the planks and onto soft ground. I too made the transition into the world of plants, dirt, and animals going about their cycles.

From here we'd probably do a lot of walking before it came time to follow any orders, so I tried to recede into creative thinking about getting the cure. It was unclear where to start with uncovering it, but first I'd need to mold solid and solvable questions out of this mental storm.

(**Fights-up-close**): Subterranian Prison, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

As was a morning routine, the door above opened and the two researchers pounded down the stairs. **"Both the tribals and the animals? I mean, we've only started to experiment with the samples from _abroad_." **Their feet hit level ground.

**"Some; with the **Sload** arriving soon we need to show progress."** The older one said, the familiar word 'Sload' making me listen intently.

**"Still, isn't it really going to take a while to make sure it's safe enough for the trainees?"** The lab door closed.

_The trainees. _The ones whose chance collision with me had brought this rogue agent crashing down to wait helplessly for the mentor she'd betrayed to arrive. It sounded like they were here to undergo some kind of dangerous treatment. What bizarre things had I arrived to see? Images of weird, alchemical procedures came to mind, followed by methodical charming of each trainee by a robed mage. _"**Isn't it really going to take a while to make sure it's safe enough for the trainees?"**_ A daring augmentation, or so it sounded like. People didn't go to the Argonian Royal Palace prematurely for small matters; this place was almost mythical in our younger days. And dangerous research must have meant large benefits could be yielded. Was the presence of childhood family members linked to the words? Did they outline a web of reason behind the seemingly unexplainable?

Were they wondering about me: what happened to me, and why _I_ was at the palace? No, more likely they were already filled with sugary lies from the adults. They were going about their business, the words of their superiors to plug their minds and assure them of neat order. They lived in a world of comfortable predictability, while I'd seen my goals all fall into a dungeon because of a chance encounter. They may have destroyed the opportunity destroy this organization.

But that would have been painful for them: they'd lose the cushy, straight world. They'd be exposed to the overworld's shifting currents, minds flooded with moral ambiguity and suspicion.

Yet even success would have been bitter I now realized. I'd look like a monster to my family by destroying all they knew. Upon that reflection it would seem like a painful duty.

To look anyone from the past in the eyes would be hard, no matter how this played out. A loveless sludge of sickness and hate, spread over soul-piercing, crystallized tears was at the bottom of my mind.

Pain was inevitable in this jail perhaps, changing forms but always lying here. But little niblets from the surface did help me think differently, rather than sit here and worry about what new, ominous insanity would creep into me; yet thinking of all the people I'd grown up with it was painful to look head on into reality, even if I could keep saner that way.

But I recalled there was food for thought both painless and productive: the question of where I'd heard 'Sload' before. That name was voiceless but clear as day. But no other image came to mind, no source. I pushed harder. "_Sload"._ But it was just a word, unconnected.

The 'Sload' were coming to check on the progress of the research, so they must have been intelligent entities. A race...or an organization. The ones the docks were made for? Was that a bit more reason to justify the previously inexplicable?

Who were they, though?

Where might that word have been? Pushing hard, the swirling colors of thought formed nothing solid. _Sload._ Where had that word come from? It must have been linked to another source that was buried in my past. I pushed harder.

I lost my train of thought. Trying to get back on track..._Sload_.

I needed logical questions to narrow down the search. In a book, in a conversation? More likely a book, and one read after coming to Cyrodiil.

The Eastern Provinces Impartially Considered was the first that came to mind. I'd read about the Imperial violations of tribal territory, their defense of slavery, my own kid-napping, the Cyrodiillic economy, the wealthy string-pullers, and the inactive generals in Morrowind. _Sload_. Pressing the word in there, it didn't click.

Yet it wasn't logic but rather a blip of feeling that told me to believe 'Sload' hadn't been there. Maybe 'Sload' _was_ in there. Maybe the word in that book was a real memory.

How would I know real memories from fake? Just the satisfaction from supposedly uncovering a real one? My heart began to speed up as I was in another dilemma about a core aspect of existence.

Was that all 'right' was, a feeling of satisfaction? I dropped a level deeper. Was there no logic, only thoughts attached to feelings? Could anything be believed if attached to certain emotion?

Insanity was seeping in again. This was pain induced instability. I couldn't ride on new ideas that came at a time like this.

But maybe my happy self was the delusional one, biased to think my path was right because walking it felt good. Falling again, more mental ground had caved under heavy thoughts. Broken failsafes made it more complicated to crawl back into daylight.

I'd become two people now, each distrustful of the other: my happy self and my aching self. Was pain what corroded mental barriers to expose me to the truth?


	30. Being Taken Out

A/N: Okay, for the first time I'm using a lore quote that wasn't actually in any game. Rather, it was from "Rogue Province, Rogue Agent". It was an imaginary extension of a book that _is_ really in the game. If I do this for another chapter, I'll put another author's note though.

And just to remind my readers: the main reason I post on this site is to have my work evaluated, to know how I can IMPROVE it. So please, be as picky and arbitrary as you want, as long as it helps me improve. I don't want you to scare readers away from reading this story, but save that, feel free to review this story like it's a book you had to _buy_.

"First and foremost, we must take a look at the history of Morrowind's southern neighbor, Black Marsh. For much of Cyrodiil's early history, its inhabitants have been virtually disregarded, seen as irreformable savages. The Second Empire had annexed Black Marsh in 1E2837, but did little to help its people progress from their primitive and down trodden state. In fact, Imperial propaganda still referred to Black Marsh as part of 'The Wild Regions' late into the Second Era, dismissing its inhabitants as 'beastly lizardmen'.

As the Third Era dawned, Argonians were allowed more and more influence in border cities such as Gideon and Stormhold, and Argonian immigrants to the Imperial province were increasingly welcomed. However, with the exceptions of areas in extremely close proximity to Imperial built roads, villages, and cities, the inhabitants of Argonia were granted no protection, aid, or even rights, with Cyrodiils only venturing into the area to obtain rare resources on tribal territory.

It was after the insurrection at Armanias, an Imperial settlement in a territorial dispute with the **River-Watchers** tribe, that areas of Black Marsh left unsettled for centuries caught Imperial attention. To put down the rebellion, not only was the Imperial Legion forced to rethink the equipment it outfitted its troops with, but it was also forced to call on another tribe, opposed to the **River-Watchers**, known as the **Stone-Scales **for aid in defeating their enemy.

This incident both showed the Imperials the need to control the inner-regions of the province, as well as the usefulness of native allies. Because of this, Empress Katariah commissioned the formation of the Argonian Royal Court, putting prominent members of the **Stone-Scales** tribe in power. The tribe, which was now officially recognized as the government of all non-Imperial owned territory, was granted a large allowance of money and resources, including weaponry, under the condition it would put an end to tribal insurrection and inter-tribal warfare, through diplomacy or force, and bring the inner swamps to a point where they could sustain themselves as civilized, agricultural societies. In addition, it was expected to protect all Argonians from foreign slavers.

Only years after its creation, however, the Empire completely lost contact with the new Argonian royal family. Tribal conflict escalated over the passing years, with events like the Murkwood War and Glenbridge Crisis, as did the yearly number of slaves captured for work in Morrowind (1) . The Argonian Royal Court was, by many officials, considered to be completely dissolved. Its exact fate is unknown."

_-_The Eastern Provinces Impartially Considered

Sun's Dusk 12, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Argonian Royal Palace, Subterranean Prison

* * *

Sitting the in cell, bitter with a lump in my throat, this would be my last day. For countless hours I'd been waiting for the door to open with one last ominous flow of light to invade the halls and **Learns-fast**'s steps to break the silence, to have him look me in the eyes to confirm my identity, then leave his old trainee at the mercy of the guards. Staring at the metal bars and stone walls that had encased me for this week, it was tragic to think a girl that had killed her best friend, witnessed the hellish havoc from the most determined killer in what little history she knew, gotten a place in the Black Hand in less than a year, and then destroyed the oldest and most destructive band of criminals in Tamrielic history would have her life end with a whimper, discarded to rot in obscurity.

There were so many unappreciated luxuries in my Shadowscale days. A loving family, protection from those who would do me harm, plenty to eat, moral confidence, and a body of people to make the hard decisions.

The sobbing of a child unpleasantly came from the cell across. Recently they'd been bringing down tribal men, woman, and children. We weren't allowed to talk, putting each of us alone to suffer at the hands of this cruel Imperial wealth-dumpster of an organization. Four had already been dragged into the research room and never come out.

Densius was up on the surface, going about his own routine. He'd abandoned his partner to continue his work for the Empire; that was clear now. Obsessing over that door had amounted to nothing. It was horribly draining.

I was about to look in the eyes the father-figured I'd betrayed and die by his orders. I'd gone from a fluffy, narrow, padded existence to a girl lost in a vast, anguish-coated world.

The noise of the door opening jolted me. That would be the most significant noise of my life and soon would come the face of **Learns-fast**. That would feel so odd.

On the walls was the hellish light of sunset. Two pairs of feet were approaching; no, three. My hands were shaking. I'd not seen **Learns-fast** since the massive, bitter turn in my life. How soul scratching it would feel have a blade buried in my flesh by his order while an Imperial Legionary who I'd thought of as a friend had forsaken me. It was all a vile, swirling, sickening concoction of emotion. Without a friend, I was back to living as an opposer, hard as stone but not quite numb.

His feet hit level ground. Time had become unbearably thick waiting for the painful opening of the cell, the first time in more than six days, yet not freedom or anything close to it. Probably he'd keep his words to a minimum, just looking at his prot'eg'e with soft eyes and confirming my identity, then walking off.

Two shadows were looming inwards. Anguish and frustration dug deep with the approaching bitter and loveless death.

Their physical forms came. **Learns-fast** and **Strong-arms** the guard, and a third figure. They all had distant gazes and **Strong-arms'** clenched fists conveyed he didn't like this either. I shifted my eyes back to my leg. A sickening tension was starting to squeeze, then trying to push up the contents of my stomach, but I wouldn't let any reaction show. Attitude was all I had left, so I needed to take pride in the image of being unphasable.

"**Yes, that's her," **said **Learns-fast **tonelessly, my mind readjusting to his voice after months of not hearing it.

Disgrace in the air, they walked off immediately. They signed the death warrant without a parting goodbye, our last moments cold as ice. I'd been pushed off the edge, but it was a moral duty to be look stoic during the fall so it might send a sliver of message out of these final minutes, ever so slightly diluting the impression of their success.

They were walking up the stairs.

What would the last moments feel like? I imagined cold steel slashing my throat; would it be an acute sting? A bizarre, intense discomfort? Would there be faintness before passing?

They opened the door upstairs. There was brief chatter, words too soft to find their forms.

Then the stairs were occupied by new feet. Those were probably the executioners.

They'd most likely take me outside, far enough for the palace not to smell the corpse, slit my throat and leave. Blood would flow helplessly into the earth as I approached the mysterious afterlife.

Fear began welling up. What awaited after sufficient blood loss?

Their feet hit the floor, time anguishingly slow. My hands quivered.

What kind of afterlife might there be? Eternal, empty blackness?

Twitching all over now, my mouth was watery, throat muscles all the more insistent to push up something.

Suddenly there was an overwhelming need to remove stuff from my stomach. I bent over and bile poured viciously from my mouth. It splattered on the stone.

It was a display of my fear, but it had been solidly unstoppable. I let out a guttural grown, an uncomfortable acidic feeling in back of my nose and bad after-taste.

I looked up to see two soldiers in leather armor from head to toe, one armed with a spear, and another with a dagger fishing through his pocket. My body went numb.

The jingling of keys in opened air meant we'd soon be in the same room.

But I realized there was no reason not to try to fight them when they entered. I began feeling conscious of my limbs and on them an odd coldness.

I looked at my knees, knowing this prisoner would soon rip out of submission and fight viciously to defend herself, grabbing on any opportunity, be it exposed flesh or an opening for escape. Odd sensations were flowing through my veins. I felt I had infinite energy.

Creaking signaled the opened cell-door.

I sprung from the seat as the dagger wielder was putting his keys back in his pocket with smug indifference. I would unleash as much force as I could.

Time seemingly slowed as he began to look up at me wide-eyed. He was soon to taste a bit of defeat.

In a blur, I was in back of him kicking the soft vulnerability of his knee joints, the rush of devastation causing him to collapse, his knee caps and palms soon to hit the floor. One guard knocked into patheticness. This was the way to frenzied escape.

Whipping around towards the stairs, sides vulnerable to the penetration of a cold, stone spearhead, I was ready to scratch, pull, or punch whatever scales I could touch to avoid my own getting breeched.

The spear tip was below my chin instead, though. I froze, arms primed between blows. The guard's face was vicious, spear tip emphasizing his intentions. I might be able to smack the spear away, but if I was too slow it could thrust itself into my brain, ending it all. But if I didn't, escape was nearly impossible. This was a period of decision in a time that was supposed to be anything but cerebral. If quick, the spear could be knocked away. Then he'd be at the mercy of whatever flowed out of my arms and legs. If his reflexes were better, he'd jab it through sensitive flesh into the sacred organ, destroying the world entirely. My fate was right beneath my chin, and my decision looked like it would be arbitrary, but leave a huge mark.

Inner jolt came as my arm was violently pulled back and a knife was put savagely to my throat.

My arm was held uncomfortably with hot breath on my neck. Shaken and defeated, I would really die with a whimper in this mythical region of the swamps. Stunned and internally quivering with the slap to the face, it was clear they truly had an iron grip with those weapons.

The spear wielder began backpedaling, the dagger wielder moving forward and obnoxiously forcing his captive to do the same. The trek to the grave was beginning.

I'd had a chance to escape in that flurry of significance, resistance, fate, and free will but blew it. Now fury would be added to the execution. Dieing of blood loss, how would that feel? What would the after-life be? Sithis wasn't real, after all.

We began up the steps.

Hope was lost. I'd gone from a mighty rogue to a prisoner about to be thrown in the trash, low as could be. The misery of failure held tight. Soon I'd see the light I once yearned for, but it would be a hideous sight

Utter defeat was manifested by two weapons at my throat after a life of conquering. The end was significantly closer with every step.

The opening of the door revealed intense light. Ugliness even applied to Argonia at a time like this, the twisted trees looking like monstrous claws.

As I was coming back to the mud I'd known for so long, two people were walking towards us: One was Fidelis.

Fidelis' eyes and mine locked briefly before he shifted his gaze from me, going on about business for his dear little Empire while leaving me to die.

It was a dizzying, surreal prospect. I'd rot with sickening betrayal from both angles at the pit of my stomach.

The two squirmed past our left, I noticed the other one was a tough looking Spiked man. The Argonian was seemingly heading to the basement.

They would live much longer lives, perhaps see the end of this mission, while I was terminal.

The world was ugly and indifferent. I was the trash of both groups I'd worked for. I felt violated by reality, slapped in the face to quiver in helpless awe. Frustration came, but that emotion couldn't leave my veins.

Walking all this time would have made so many opportunities for escape if not for the overwhelming power of two weapons to the throat. It was sharply frustrating that such a simple set up, two moderately equipped soldiers, could defeat a Shadowscale.

How would the last sensation feel? Sharp pain followed by reality seeping away? A bizarre sort of discomfort? Then where would my soul go? An eternal nothingness? Aetherius in the arms of the Nine? Another body being born? Aetherius, hopefully, though that was a topic I'd barely explored. Religion was left a matter to deal with later, and now a matter for never.

We were probably more than half way to a spot where the odor of rotting flesh would not be detected.

Soon I'd be a bitter martyr against the Argonian Royal Court like **Goes-in-heavy**. He was the one who started this chain reaction. It seemed like that had been a life time ago, yet the day of his death was clear as dry air:

_"**Think of all they've tasked you with. Was it driven by anything but greed? If not, what else? The Dark Brotherhood serves anyone who pays, and the Argonian Royal Court? The Argonian Royal Court serves no one but themselves." **_Harsh, sticky, and once deeply offensive words. As he dared, I thought back to the Dark Brotherhood assignments received. One was the assassination of an amoral pirate Captain, another the killing of an old man in a very mysterious manner, and the third a prisoner who had plans to make his name known. Though I couldn't feel anything for the second assignment, not knowing what it was about at the time, the first and third seemed soundly righteous. His words hurt, confused, and angered.

_"_**_So you came here just to hide?"_ **I'd said, the falseness and cowardice of those who went against us something I was eager to prove.

_"**As long as they can't use me for their agendas, I'm helping someone. That I know. The Dark Brotherhood has eyes everywhere, and I can't accomplish anything alone."**_ True, but it still sickened me to find out this was how our reunion in Cyrodiil would begin and end.

Then I'd heard rustling to the left. **Cleaver**, my partner for that assignment, had emerged from the bushes. I'd looked back at **Goes-in-heavy. **He appeared ready to run. With merciless impulse, I'd swung the sword at his back. It made a clean cut.

His spine severed, he flopped to the ground as lifeless and oblivious to his own death as so many other targets.

Once a great friend and courageous servant to Argonia, then a deserter and traitor in my misguided eyes. His soul released itself so quickly it was as if it was never even there. For his courage he'd been degraded to a lifeless, thoughtless, feelingless mass of flesh. He was gone. Permanently. Tragically, he died with his best friend's bitterest words.

I was pulled back to reality. The spear wielder had stopped.

This was it, the last sensation before the fade to the unknown.

Muscles tightening, morbid wonder filled my mind.

"Hey!" Yelled a human: Densius. The spear-wielder's eyes turned soft and curious. Densius was rustling confidently towards us. "What are you planning to do with her?" Accompanying the words was my rising euphoria, like I could laugh about the assumption of death. Exhilaration swept over the previously grim scene.

The spear wielder started moving leftwards, taking the spear tip away from my throat: the spear tip that I thought made death here inevitable.

In his eyes was a fog of confusion. The knife was still against my throat, though. Yet if the dagger-wielder was in a similar mental-murk, it would be easy to smack the arm away. It felt like Densius and I were silent co-conspirators with synergy and purpose like never before. Next to rip into the fight for freedom, a second chance handed to me by the Legionarre.

My mind became a medium for formulating a plan. I could make one blurry jerk to get the knife away from my throat if I did so quickly, and open a tight window of opportunity.

Yes, now to put free will to work.

Hand jolting forward to his upper-arm, it flew in surreally slow time. I hoped his reflexes weren't quick.

His meaty arm was smacked away, flying in another direction. I violently jerked my head back, impacting his face with my fins in the merciless flow of survival.

The man temporarily devastated, I rolled away, making the world a blur. My clothes mixed with mud in the boundless nature of survival.

Getting up fluently, it was necessary to get behind the tree and push the Shadow energy to the surface so I could at least regroup. The closest one was to the left. I ran. After a week in captivity I was overcome with a refreshing sense of freedom and power embedded in my muscles. Having no weapon provided a big disadvantage in close combat, but if I threw a rock at someone's face I could still be of use. I was desperate to be useful, even if dregly, to minimize the pain of the rescuer.

Thick trunk ahead, I got behind it and pushed the energy to the surface. I had the element of surprise from here on, at least.

Peaking back at the dagger-wielder, it was clear he had regrouped. He had two bloody points above his mouth, though.

But a sound, familiar yet unable to be associated with the physical, indicated something heading his way.

A ball of lethally freezing air hit his eyes, causing him to cover his face and scream a blood-curdling scream as he stumbled backwards, soon over a rock, now pathetic. He continued to lament of his probable loss of sight, but was now little factor in the battle. I turned to the other threat I might help take down.

The spear-wielder was frantic, probably debating whether to throw his spear.

Hoping for rocks to throw, I scanned the ground. Plenty of pebbles, but nothing sizeable enough to pack a punch.

Yet violent rustling indicated Densius was charging towards the spear-wielder. There wouldn't be much use for me; the spear-wielder's face told me this was almost over. They'd unleashed a mighty power. He put his spear tip infront of him in a useless grab for protection.

Densius fluently chopped it off, a desperate look from the guard before he stabbed him in the throat.

Brutal gurgling and stumbling was followed by the thud of his body on the forest floor. Defeat.

Violent moans from the blinded dagger-man were all that remained of the battle, the last remnant of a fading tempest of violence. He'd nearly seen to the execution, so his suffering was satisfying.

Densius was running to seal the last pathetic piece of the battle. He ran towards the Argonian with the intent to end his life, and the alien Cyrodiillic tendency to terminate justified suffering half the time on arbitrary impulse. But the man who'd nearly killed me had already suffered wildly at least, bringing him a good deal closer to the state he deserved in a short amount of time.

As Densius got close, the Argonian wildly tried to stab where he gauged his legs were. Fidelis stepped on his hand and plunged the sword into the man's neck.

A jolt in the dagger-wielder's voice came before he let out a submissive breath of death, caught in that position until his body would rot away. His corpse was a monument to the unbreakability I now, guiltily, realized Densius and I had.

My hands shook with adrenaline, the battle-mode still there, but it was time to seep back into normalcy. Evil was vanquished for the time being, bad men's souls passing so their bodies could be useless bags of flesh, caught forever in their moment of defeat and leaving only two good people with nature. Euphoria began to rise. Infused with memories, I knew the pleasure would peak in his proximity.

Now I was regretful of all the bitter thoughts of him. He'd come to my aid after-all, throwing himself into the fear and violence while I'd gone invisible; he had yet to see the girl he'd rescue. Densius was in his own world still, eyes like a predator, surveying the scene for any other bad guys. He'd acted with courage, and now was no doubt in an emotional state lower than he deserved, but I felt heartily ready to fix that. There was an urge to pay him back digging deep, to grasp on anything that might boost his mood.

His back was towards me. I stepped out from behind the tree fully, Shadow energy dissipating. The crunch of a leaf made him sharply turn. His gaze softened and he lowered his sword.

Not knowing what to say, I began trying to brew something up. He spoke first "There you are," he said simply. "Sorry I couldn't get you out earlier."

"Thanks. Let me know if there's anyway I can pay you back." I responded with an urge like inverted revenge. Now I felt almost teary for underestimating him. I was looking at someone who'd saved my life.

But close to him, something didn't seem right. Had comfort and comradery really swept over me as expected upon increased proximity? He wiped sweat from his forehead as something felt artificial. There was happiness, no doubt, but something irritated the back of my mind.

He looked at me again "I'm just glad you're alright." _'Glad.'_ That shallowed the urge to pay him back. By extension, that made us feel less connected.

Still, there were a lot of ways we'd need to get reacquainted after all this isolation, so I asked "What'd they have you doing? Did you have to desert your tasks to rescue me like this?" Hopefully his trust within the Argonian Royal Court was still in tact.

"They put me to work hunting animals which they, uh, took into the basement. My partner and I always parted ways when we got to the basement door so that's when I turned to start following you and those guards." He'd been planning since he saw me. Maybe behind his eyes was more than I'd first guessed.

Animals had been carried through the dungeon halls; our presences had been invisibly intertwined.

But tribals had also been brought down there. Was he involved and hiding the fact? "Did they assign you to capture any tribals?" I asked, then feeling a little audacious acting like the bigger one after he'd saved my life.

"No." Dismissive but not defensive. He seemed sincere, but so did my former family.

Cynicism started to creep around again. Was he concealing part of the operation to keep his credibility?

I recalled there was another cryptic bit involving the retrieval of the animals down in the dungeon:

_**"Both the tribals and the animals? I mean, we've only started to experiment with the samples from abroad." **Their feet hit level ground._

_**"Some; with the **Sload** arriving soon we need to show progress."**_

"_Sload". _Maybe that word would mean something to him, he spent all his life free. I asked "Did you overhear anything about the Sload while you were on the job? Do you know what they are?" The curtain behind that word hopefully about to be pulled.

"I didn't hear them mention those guys, but they were this race of slug people who got mostly wiped out in the First Era after they spread the Thrassian plague all over Tamriel. Why?" The race of the people the Argonian Royal Court was working with didn't seem like it could mean much. It all still was foggy.

It was time to reveal some of _my_ time away to _him_. "While I was in the prison I overheard talk of 'the Sload' arriving to check on the progress of Argonian Royal Court research."

"Hm." Was the response, casually throwing it away to wonder on another time. Maybe he was too far from the upper echelons of Argonian Royal Court operations to make what I'd heard down there useful. "Oh, I uh, I managed to find some of that proof we were looking for, it's a map of all the Argonian Royal Court's assets. I hid it by, uh, some bushes. Now we just need to figure out how to get the cure."

Half our work was already taken off our shoulders! I'd expected he'd just been _waiting_ for an opportunity this whole time. This was a pleasant surprise. "How'd you manage to retrieve the map?" I asked. Such a stealth oriented task being accomplished by him was certainly interesting.

"Oh, they sent me to, uh, escort some dwemer equipment coming in up North and I was using one of their shipping routes to do it, so they gave me a map that showed every one of their shipping routes, and, uh, their installations and the like. I think I saw the building you used to work in, actually." Such a powerful tool just falling into his lap was really mind-opening, and it felt even odder hearing a Legionary mention my sanctuary.

But 'dwemer' equipment...dwemer was a meaningless label to me, but there was some talk of a 'shipment' in the dungeon. The past seemed the most promising place to take my mind. I recalled:

_"**The shipment of **Thrahasta Ghoad**, when's that arriving? They're sending more people out these days, after all, and I hope we don't run out**." _

_"**Sending people out**_"... that _"Thrahasta Ghoad" _sounded like the cure. Had Densius been escorting the cure, was it right under his nose without his knowledge? Were those shipments at least related? If so, it must have arrived yesterday or earlier for him to be hunting animals today. I remembered hearing the scheduled delivery time during the first day in prison.

**_"A week or so."_**

It shot into my head the shipment was arriving today, I nearly gasped.

"I-" He let out a blip of speech before I interrupted:

"Did you see them bringing any kind of shipment into the palace today!?" Words fast and sharp, almost fearful of losing them.

"Yeah, there's this weird ship in the docks I caught a glimpse of just a couple minutes ago." The mysterious docks were finally being put to use and the cure too might be in our grasp! Developments saturated this day!

"That may contain the cure we're looking! We should head there immediately!"

Turning, I began running the most meaningful dash of my life. The physical world seemed in sync with me; there were thick, strange, flat but ultimately pleasant emotions cast over the land. There was energy and purpose felt in every fiber of my body. Today might be the day of every liberation in Argonia.


	31. The Cure

"'They tried to erect a Temple of Mara near here, in Umpholo, twenty years ago,' Shehs explained, and Scotti nodded, remembering reading about it in the files before they were lost. 'They all perished quite dreadfully of swamp rot in the first month, but they left behind some excellent books.'"

-The Argonian Account, Book Four

Sun's Dusk 12, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Near the shores of Palace Lake, Black Marsh

* * *

We were heading to a vantage point far from the docks. New trees, bushes, and flowers passed us as purpose and excitement infused every step towards the lake.

Already the water was visible, stagnant but host to something meaningful.

We targeted a bushy spot near the shore.

What could this odd ship look like? Green hull and curved sails? And what would this 'slug-race' look like? Would they have something akin to legs?

We stopped in the cover at the edge of the lake. Looking to the left, adrenaline filled me as our mission was commencing and change was coming.

There was a bizarre anomaly, too small to be a ship but near the docks none the less. It was made of a saffron, almost stony-textured material. It was a flat box sticking out from the water with thick supports on the back and stilts on the bottom. It was hard to believe it was as it appeared. How could that be a boat? It was mesmerizing.

An Argonian man was taking some things out of the box: two small jars. He turned, seemingly to head for the door straight ahead of the docking point. I'd never entered that door. That was our door of opportunity.

Yet gray, bulbous things were emerging from the lake and moving gelatinously towards the mud-room door: Sload, nearly as alien looking as what had arrived on the dock. Two more were moving towards the basement.

They were comfortable under-water, clearly. Their vessel must have been concealed there.

But the cure might have been removed completely from the vessel by now. If not, it would be soon.

I turned to Fidelis. "Go check if there's any cure left in that box." I ordered, given he was still a legitimate guest in the palace. He began running in that direction.

I watched the palace front, filled with anticipation. The box stood above the water, stagnant but tauntingly inviting. That little oddity would mean everything. The impossible was in view. My heart pounded. Would Densius take two more jars out and run back eagerly, or would this new hope sink as he shook his head from the docks? Anticipation squeezed tightly.

His foot falls became inaudible, but soon he'd be visible on the docks. Light, funny sensations flowed through my veins. I was witnessing something near-legendary.

Birds glided and bugs buzzed like every other day, clueless of the world-changing power at the finger-tips of this unexpected pair.

But someone could come out of that door to pick up the next pair of jars before he did. That was reason to be tense. _Door, please don't open. Please._

Then he was in view, running down the docks. I watched with a body and mind operant and pumping.

He transitioned from the mudroom-path planks to the dock, then turned.

Densius ran down the dock. The question would be answered in seconds. My arms felt funny. My skin felt tighter.

He turned, though, and began running back. I sunk a bit, and the vastness of our power became an empty void.

He ran back over the mud-room planks, then he disappeared in the foliage.

Next would come planning how to get the cure from the palace.

The door became the focus of my attention again. We might need to get in there. Lock-picks would be nearly impossible to find here, so how we'd do it was a mystery. Still, it was exciting we'd made it this far. Getting in that room would be of little challenge given what we'd already pulled off.

The vessel was still an intriguing curiosity, though. With it submerged like that, Fidelis couldn't explore it, but an Argonian could.

His audible foot falls were soon followed by his form becoming visible. I'd send him back to the palace, but would wait until he got close so I wouldn't have to yell.

His eyes locked with mine briefly as I gauged when he would be in conversational range.

Then he was, so I said "You go back into the palace and find out anything about the shipment and how we can get to it. I'll investigate that vessel the cure arrived in."

His face was blank briefly before he said, "Got it." Densius began jogging off again. High-stakes situations always brought fluency.

My attention turned back to that box almost comically stilted above the water. An otherworldly kind of ship must be hidden beneath the lake's surface.

I would need to crawl a considerable distance before being submerged. My Shadow power had already been expended for the day, unfortunately, so getting in the lake was a tad dangerous.

I looked to the left as I thought about rolling out this cover.

No one was at the window and no guards were facing this way.

I prepared to tumble towards the depths of the lake, getting on my side. With a bit of courage I began rolling through shallow water. A bit of fear hardened in me as scales slapped in and out of the liquid with the dull roar of the lake pulsing in my ear. The momentum soon got the upper hand.

Cool water and its hum now consistent, I stopped rolling, hidden from the surface in the safety of the lake. If I caught any attention I couldn't tell, just hope this girl was favored by fortune.

Though a bit of worry lingered, this world was softer and more welcoming. I began in the direction where the vessel likely was, which couldn't currently be seen through the murk.

Propelling myself forward, my veins were filled with energy.

Densius was doing a different part of the mission top-side; we were working together in an invisible operation. The palace thought I was gone forever, yet I was about to be examining one of their greatest secrets up-close, whatever it would look like. Defying what seemed like fate by living another day was invigorating. This was my most important day in Argonia, at least since my infantile kid-napping.

A faint oval was ahead; I stopped. That must have been the vessel. If there were windows on it and it was occupied, they might see my faint form too. But this wasn't sufficient proximity to 'Detect Life', so I tensely swam forward.

The supports on which the cargo was being held above water were now becoming visible.

The hull was clear: no windows.

Worry floated away. Able to let my guard down considerably, I hovered by the alien "ship". There was a T-shaped contraption on the side with a hearty string of bubbles coming out the bottom. On the back was a vertical, fully symmetrical blade.

Time to Detect Life: I let the world fuzz, all its boundaries dissolving, logic turning meaningless, but kept solid a faith there was visible energy of the beings.

A colored blob formed in the front of the vehicle, a bulbous shape like the ones which were heading into the palace, but it was upside down. This was other-worldly.

But the Sload was facing ahead, so my entrance would be invisible. Yes, I could go _inside_ the vessel. More opportunity was presented in this rich day.

Looking for the entrance, I decided to check the other side first.

This vessel's kind was surely something few walkers on Tamriel saw. It was a novelty worth soaking up, another mark of an exceptional life. This was great use of the extra time on Nirn I was granted. Only minutes after escaping, I was treated to the sight of this breath-takingly surreal machine.

Passing the back's blade, the other side was identical.

There must have been a hatch on top. I propelled myself up, looking into the distorted, dirtying-with-sunset sky above.

The vessel's top had a hatch with a small ridge.

About to open it, my sensitivity to sound increased. I was apprehensive to pull it hard, fearing a jerky release of energy that would cause some noise.

I pulled lightly, bracing for it not to budge.

It slid opened easily to reveal another water-filled room. The tension released its grip.

The room looked empty, but there was a passage to another below.

I decided my tail should be tightly tucked to my leg so it didn't hit anything; a Sload was somewhere to the right. I entered with a funny feeling in the hands that propelled me. I was extra-conscious of the sensory signatures I was leaving.

There was a sort of cabinet was hanging from the ceiling. Was this whole vessel upside-down? It looked like a product of a parallel universe.

There was also a lever on one of the walls, but pulling it seemed too risky. There was a hatch to the room with life, with a thicker one on the opposite wall. This was only a small 'ship' to explore, yet still quite a place.

I thrusted forward to the lower area, mind on that Sload in the room to the right.

In the lower room objects were buoyantly pressed to the ceiling, all boxes. Each had alien script on it. Not a spec of their civilization seemed to come from our world, and even traditional Argonian civilization and human civilization seemed similar compared to this. This sight was too alien to analyze for intelligence.

I propelled myself back up. There was one more unoccupied room through the thick hatch to the back, but I was still close to a Sload. Imagining the damning noise of an unsmooth opening brought fear, especially given it was unclear how these things fought.

This exploration was thrilling but useless: this place was too alien to make sense of yet. It was time to leave, back to the familiar world so I could be in less danger.

I swam upward, through the hatch.

The opened hatch could be a tell-tale sign of an intrusion, so I closed it, re-sealing that oddity which felt misplaced in Mundus.

I began swimming back, conjuring a way to report the news: _"That vessel is submerged in water. There's one occupant in the front, but I couldn't find anything useful._"

Still, _he_ would probably have a rich report. Would he be back when I arrived? I was eager and energized to do more planning, mind feeling cleaner than it had in months. Power was in our hands like never before.

The piece of shore we were using was visible. Soon would return sharp-sounds and solid footing.

Face close to the dirt, soon I wouldn't be able to swim. I'd be raw and visible briefly before getting back into the thick cover of the bushes.

Now it was time to emerge, albeit with a bit of courage.

I rose to the surface and ferally scrambled back into the cover of the bushes. I imagined the blur they might see.

Back to cover, dripping, I peaked through a gap in the leaves, looking at the palace with some apprehension.

The windows were empty, and the tower-guards were still facing towards land. That was relieving.

But perhaps someone spotted me and was heading outside right now; I kept watching, daring the door to open, to put something ominous in the nearly still image. People passed through the windows, but still the mud-room door remained unopened. Maybe a person who saw my emergence was busy alerting someone tougher. I tried to imagine what would happen inside if they'd spotted an Argonian emerging from the lake:

I imagined a man spotting me at a window, then running through the halls, up the steps to the nearest guard post. He'd bang on their door, and wait anxiously for them to climb down their ladders. They would get to the bottom, open the door, and he'd explain "**_Someone just crawled out of the lake, I think you should check it out!" _**Knowing how quickly someone could disappear into the foliage here, the guard would start hammering down the stairs, weaving past people on the bottom floor. Then he'd burst through the mud-room door.

Coming out of the fantasy I realized all of that would have happened now if I'd been spotted. My re-emergence had made no ripples. That was comforting.

I looked at the ground as the waiting began.

Densius was in the palace somewhere, gathering intelligence on the cure so his stealthy companion might filch it later. We felt more united than ever, and that brought contentment.

But there was something dark in the back of my mind, something I couldn't quite place.

The Empire: that cure was the door to Argonia for them. I'd been aiding their opening of the province without thinking about it!

I sunk, pained deeply that this great accomplishment had to have a gargantuan darker side.

No one else saw it, but my morality was always there to dilute a sense of accomplishment. There would be a lot of thinking to do that he wouldn't know about, putting us in two different worlds again. I ached knowing there was a decision to make: to contact the Legion to make sure the Argonian Royal Court was destroyed, or to be painfully forced by morality to kill my savior. The latter would be bitter to swallow like the Purification. Worse, though, because there were no orders this time.

I despised morals, the way they were constantly chipping away at the quality of life. They'd always be here, making heros torture themselves. That was stabbingly painful, a horrible void to look into.

When I was a Shadowscale life whimsically flowed; It was beautiful misconception all I needed to do to stay on the righteous path was to follow orders.

But those days were gone. _I hate morals. _Feeling the heavy torment sweep over the world again, there was no longer reason to eagerly anticipate his return.

The cure would open Argonia and with that opening would rush in a lot of catastrophe: invasions, resources draining, misunderstanding. But it was a near guarantee it would require the Legion to take down the Argonian Royal Court, and leaving my former masters in power would lead to further exploitation of the tribals too. The fate of the whole marsh could be at the tip of my dagger, and I had the cursed duty to determine it; I envied the powerless. There were only days to make this decision all the while keeping pace with the fast developments of the exterior world; that added stress. It was more than enough to make a soul weary.

But the Legionary I'd met didn't seem bad at all; Maybe the reopening of Argonia wouldn't be either. That brought a spurt of euphoria.

But the fate of a province shouldn't be decided so quickly. The euphoria dissipated and I pushed myself to dryly weigh the two possibilities, transitioning from quick intuition to dry mathematical calculation. I always ached in this mode of thought.

First there was the Argonian Royal Court. What vices did they have? They...they...they started tribal conflicts to keep tribes from uniting. That was a 1 for the Argonian Royal Court.

And what counter vice did the Empire have? They...they...they...they took resources from tribal territory. But resources were less important than lives. That was a .5 for the Empire.

1 to .5. But might the Empire have something to bring themselves to a 1 also? The Imperials...the Imperials...the Imperials desecrated sacred Argonian sites, and they also formed the Argonian Royal Court. That I would assign a .5 and 2 respectively. That meant...

I lost the train of thought. Where had this been going? Then it returned. 1 for the Argonian Royal Court. .5 + .5 + 2 for the Empire: 3.

1 to 3. But what other wrong-doings did the Argonian Royal Court have? The Argonian Royal Court....the Argonian Royal Court....the wrongdoings of the Argonian Royal Court...they funded the Dark Brotherhood. 2. But they couldn't do that again, so 1. Argonian Royal Court had a total of 2, the Empire had a total of 3.

But the Dark Brotherhood --

Crunching underbrush to the left brought back reality. Densius - or a guard. I wasn't sure which to prefer, given a guard would let me delay the decision about Argonian fate.

I turned anyway while quietly backing into some shrubbery.

It was Densius. It was time to return to the mission he thought I was unquestioningly compliant with; he'd been right initially, and hopefully he wouldn't notice a change. Minutes ago I felt like a hero, now I felt like an actress.

His gaze was to my left. I stepped out of the foliage.

He smelled vaguely of nervous sweat as he stopped and said "They're locking the cure in some room that's to the left when you come down the stairs by the paper-mill. That door at the docks leads to at least _two_ rooms; I could hear them unlocking a second door through the wall and placing the jars there. There's also a meeting going on in that room South of the kitchen and some voices are definitely not Argonian so I think they're Sloadic." He said a lot without a single filler: he'd obviously processed and rehearsed what he said, but that stood to reason. Pulling off this assignment now felt petty when I was trying to determine the right fate for Argonia.

Yet, with half my heart, I spoke. "If the wall was thin enough to hear all that through, you should be able to bust a hole in it." The words spilled out without any internal counter-arguments. Would that sentence turn into action, or be a delaying tactic? "It would be best to do at 1:00am. Everyone will be asleep. How about I meet you at this location once you're done? We'll make a break for it if we're followed and hope for the best from there."

Densius shifted his eyes downward pensively. I was nostalgic for the solid synergy I'd felt before. Now that was a shallow farse. "Okay, sounds good. So I'll bring two...samples of the cure and at 1:00am we'll meet here?" Half question, half statement.

"Yeah."

He nodded and turned fluently.

This would be a night of change, but that no longer brought me excitment. Rather it brought dread of what bitter tasks might be coming up.


	32. Dire Stakes

A/N: Please note, some "typos" in the words (italicized text or quoted speech) of non-native speakers of Cyrodiillic trying to speak that language are intentional.

UPDATE: This chapter has undergone minor revision due to input from nightdragon.

* * *

"Every Sload individual encountered has been a grasping, callous, godless, self-loving schemer. They do not seem to experience or display any familiar human emotions, though they are skilled diplomats and actors, and produce gross, exaggerated parodies of human behavior (laughter at lame jokes, weeping at apparent misfortunes, furious tirades at folly or ineptitude). They have no compunctions about blasphemy, theft, torture, kidnapping, murder, or genocide. They break laws whenever they calculate it in their best interests. They do not perceive or honor friendship or loyalty in the familiar human terms, except for a cheerful affinity for those who defeat them or trick them in any endeavor. The adult form does not apparently reproduce, and shows no interest in the fate of its offspring."

-Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 12, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

Staring at the bed sheet and floor, it was still a shame the effectiveness of crashing through a wall with leather armor couldn't be tested; Doing it anywhere without making lots of noise seemed impossible. To see a simple, dumb structure: a wall, hold so much power over a human being was frustrating. Yet I kept charging at the problem, hoping my mind would bounce somewhere fresh. Two hours of thought had brought me little further than the wall itself, though.

Perhaps my sword could silently cut a hole through it. But would that be ridiculously time consuming? I imagined droning soft cuts amounting to little but a small, narrow hole by the time the sun rose.

Hearing feet through the halls, they were all unsuspecting of this plot.

Maybe to see how hard one could cut without making noise I could try cutting the wall to Soch-Eena's former room.

Knocking on the door jolted me.

The door seemed to stare at me. Who could that possibly be?

Wondering if there was anything to be embarrassed about, my mind rushed; No secret documents were in my possessions, no weapon was in hand, and my clothes were all still on. I pushed out the words "Hold on."

Putting on the mask of their compliant agent, I got up, still mystified by who could be behind that door. Another late night assignment to keep their precious Imperial out of the palace?

Or did they know I'd killed Soch-Eena's would-be executioners? My blood ran cold. Something vile started stirring in my stomach. Should I get the sword? That would be a visible threat, so no. I prepared mentally for a spell instead, imagining the invisible, intricate processes of the magicka.

I continued towards the door, muscles tightening, feeling nearly naked in soft cloth, fear in my chest. What if, once I unlocked it, they just stabbed through the opening? My breaths got shallow.

Muffled mechanical sounds from the door followed. An unpleasant tingling permeated my face; the key was in their possession!

I imagined five sword wielders nightmarishly charging towards me in a blur. I'd cast a spell to make one man incapacitated but keep their pursuit of blood robust. I'd try to run past them but feel cold steel on my side.

The door slid ominously, mercilessly opened. I froze at the ready, nervous but primed, a funny, light sensation on the skin of my limbs.

Sudeeda, an important official, came through; This was not an execution. The tension dissolved to calm level-headedness. Two leather-armored, spear-wielding bodyguards flanked her, however.

All three stepped in fully before one of her soldiers turned to close the door.

He did so and then resumed being an accessory of his master.

"Perhaps you have heard your friend was confirmed as a traitor, and her intended executioners have not returned from their duties several hours since they were supposed to be complete." I wasn't convicted yet but persecution was dawning. I stayed silent, looking perhaps like a deer staring at a hunter's incoming destruction spell. "Both of these make your benevolence towards our organization deeply suspect."

Worry continued creeping in. She went on "Incase you are wondering, we plan to guard the cure intensely while you remain with us." The cure guarded brought a sinking feeling and made the return to Cyrodiil float out of view. But letting me live when I was so deeply suspect, that was mighty mercy. Were they really so worthy of destruction?

She sighed and looked towards the chair, the mood now seeming less guarded. Still, tension remained. Did they just want to get more proof on me before killing?

Sudeeda sat down on the chair and, under her robe, crossed her legs, then folded her hands on her lap, manner still stylized but with apparent effort.

She looked at me "I suspect you noticed we had visitors today. The Sload of Thras have been our allies since shortly after our creation centuries ago, providing us with the means to purge the Khnahaten Flu from our bodies. It allowed us to base our organization in Helstrom without forcing us to sever our connection with the outside world. Now, however, we suspect they might be up to some dire fowl play. "

This information being spilled when Soch-Eena and I'd worked so hard to uncover their secrets was amazing. It must have meant some serious evil verses evil action, a fight I would be likely to take part in, with schemes in the back of my mind while I killed expendables for this rogue political entity. Or perhaps I could side with the Sload for a chance to take down the Argonian Royal Court. Either way, there'd be a bit more time in the dirt for success, a mildly disheartening prospect.

She was looking down introspectively while I tightened with anticipation at more information. She looked up again "They were subject to genocide by all of the Tamrielic races with naval capabilities in the First Era, and therefore harbor a grudge against essentially every race residing on this continent but us." They cared about the other races, that softened my view of them. I felt a little guilty and solemnly introspective, but at the same time charged to be in the company of other altruists.

She went on "Our alliance with the Dark Brotherhood was originally enough to satisfy their need to bring misery to the rest of Tamriel." Cowards seeking redemption? They were still quite unclean, it seemed. "Now with the destabilization caused by the Oblivion Crisis we believe their greed increases. They have urged us to exploit the conflicts in Elsweyr and Morrowind, as well as those likely approaching in High Rock with Queen Elysana in power, and even perhaps in Cyrodiil with the formation of the Knights of the Nine. But we fear it is only to set the stage for far more devastating action." Distress and fear had crept into her tone. Those were ominous words accented by the otherwise silence. It was unpleasant staring into such vast, ugly prospects.

"W-" My own voice surprised me, sharp as it crackled through the air. "What do you think they intend?" There was a bizarre heart-to-heart connection seeming to form between these people and I. Soon we might be fighting together against a bulbous menace.

"We fear they intend to release the Khnahaten Flu into the foreign world once Tamriel hits its appex of disorder. We must ensure this does not happen."

Her words hit hard as she looked back at her lap. Disease potentially devastating the whole world, and the Argonian Royal Court reaching out to a mole to help them stop it. A hollow feeling was in my chest. The world felt vast and swept with dread. I had a greater sense of purpose but also apprehension growing as I thought of the darkness possibly ahead.

She looked back in my eyes. "You and Soch-Eena can be deniable assets to avert this disaster. They know we suspected your loyalties, so if they find you investigating them they will not think you were working for us. We need you to retrieve Soch-Eena for us and bring her back here, then we can discuss further plans."

_"We need you to retrieve Soch-Eena for us and bring her back here,"_ That was why she'd come; maybe the disease threat was just fabricated to get me to work for them. The sense of epicness and additional purpose dissipated, leaving a tacky state. A shell between these Argonians and I formed again.

But if they truly did think the Sload intended to release the Flu, the apocalypse could be on my hands for rejecting them.

One option would never be cleaned off the back of my mind until I'd seen the results, whatever my choice. I could either make a tragic mistake distrusting the Argonians and let the Tamriel boil over with disease and chaos, or I could be made into a fool with Soch-Eena's blood on my hands, zoomed back into the drabber, shallower, more mundane world to be executed in helpless last moments because I'd believed their engrossing fabrication.

Sudeeda's eyes met mine. Was it a soul or a mask? If it was a mask, it was infuriating how low they might be going, making someone try to be a hero and then killing him for it.

To drill them with questions seemed the best course of action; they _needed_ _me_ to find Soch-Eena, so I was bigger one even when inside their palace. Hearing an organization like this claim they wanted to stop a disease they were immune to certainly sounded fishy. "Why are _you_ so interested in protecting the rest of Tamriel?"

She gave an innocent, perky look "We purchase from outside provinces regularly. We also suspect the Sload would launch the plague from Argonia so they would not be suspect, and perhaps cause our people to be subject to a similar genocide they were forced to face." Proposing a modern genocide put me on guard for some kind of jab at the Empire, though an emergency that immense might indeed warrant it. Regardless, it was persuasive, making the decision a bit less painful even though I'd miss altruism's charge.

Still, this was a critical decision, so I needed to be as sure as possible. My mind rushed for more accusatory questions to test their claim that they really wanted Soch-Eena so we could help them stop the spread of a disease: Why would the Sload turn on these Argonians now? Because Tamriel would soon be close to crumbling, so they no longer needed help to push it over the edge. Why would...my mind was a bit less fruitful and a bit more tangled. Giving up this quick, though, seemed pointless. I scraped up "What evidence do you have that they intend this?" I was lapping up everything available from this power.

She sighed again, her morale seemingly carried away with each bit of information "We have been researching ways to make use of the Hist sap in this facility. They uninterested in the long-term effects of Hist sap treatments. Likely they expect the treatments we give our agents to lengthen an inevitable fight between us and the invaders who would arrive after the Khnahaten Flu floods mainland Tamriel. If we were to miraculously win against those invaders we would likely be finished off easily by our former allies."

_"long-term effects of Hist sap treatments". _Was there something deadly crawling up my scaly hand? "What do you mean by 'long term effects of Hist sap treatments'? Will I have to worry about that stuff?" What pain might await? Something grueling probably, something as bizarre as a Hist sap transformation seemed to invite.

She didn't look up but seemed resigned to the idea she was spilling information normally locked-up. "'Long-term' meaning changes in those exposed to the Hist sap being passed down to future generations. I would assume you have heard of the so-called 'Khajiiti sub-species'."

To conclude the Hist sap could do that to them was really grasping at straws. "You think the Hist sap could do something similar to the Argonians, but where would you get the trait? I thought Hist sap mixed the traits of only the two beings in contact with it."

Her composure was now lost, hands on the side of her head conveying distress. She inhaled and looked back at me, appearing worn already "The Khajiiti sub-species are the reason we believe the Hist sap can bring about highly unpredictable traits in future generations. We believe all 'humaniod beastfolk' of Tamriel share a common ancestor similar to your kind, with major divergences caused by Hist sap use. That explains the anatomical diversity we, the aboriginals of Tamriel, posses compared to the indigenous peoples of other continents and also the uncanny similarities we often share: two breasts, a height of five to six feet, eight hours average sleep, identical sexual dimorphism, identical leg structure, fully bipedal locomotion, nearly six-hundred skeletal muscles with the most significant deviation caused by presence or lack of a tail. These similarities apply to all humans, Orcs, and the Khajiit and Argonian breeds you, a Cyrodiil, are no doubt most familiar with. We believe the other betmer were mostly exiled from Argonia, the only land, with the possible exception of Akavir, capable of growing healthy Hist trees, once they used it in ways our ancestors deemed reckless."

Epic new views full of questions began washing over me. The Council of Healers had long suspected we had a common heritage, but the Hist's role in shaping Tamriel was an entirely new idea! These were sweeping changes coming over my world view. The discovery of the millennium was made in this remote, little-known, wooden building!

"Hold out your hand." She said, words sharp through the fog of my mind. I'd done so with the pure one before realizing it, her theory about the betmer still paramount in my mind.

Her hand was hovering next to mine. Both quivered slightly. Her hand was scaly, but otherwise the same shape in every way.

Her hand withdrew quickly, perhaps because she was pre-exposed to this truth. Everything that'd been said was overflowing my mind. I wasn't even beginning to process the implications of it all.

Jolted by the words "Are compliant with us in finding your former accomplice and bringing her back to the palace?" I recalled the present.

That was a decision to make in this astonishing new world: the past was like a tsunami washing over the Nirn, wetting everything, but the future put pressure on me. A wrong decision here would haunt me until death. This situation felt like it was creeping a bit into the territory of a nightmare; waking up was half expected.

Processing this would require some alone time. "I'd like some time to think about it." It was unclear where even to begin evaluating all this information.

"As you wish. I will return in half an hour." She replied, rising from the chair. She began walking towards the door. My perceptions had been shattered by that woman. Now there were mountains more to think about. If that was all fabricated to get their Imperial to bring Soch-Eena back for a real execution, it was a masterful fabrication.

The door was closed by a bodyguard.

It felt like a totally different world now, yet I realized I was sitting in the same place I'd been minutes ago.

It was quiet, like the universe had cleared for me to take this all in. It was Hist sap which transformed men or mer into beastfolk, and beastfolk into countless other forms. It was a large chunk of the Mythic Age uncovered.

But the Sload planning to unleash a disease on Tamriel and blame it on the Argonians, desolating the continent, was even more captivating.

If compliant, would I find Soch-Eena so we could spy on a common enemy for the Argonian Royal Court, or fall for an impressive ploy with deep humiliation? It was an ironic, soul-digging dilemma.

Where to start with this mound of powerful words?


	33. Trap or Meeting?

"The reach of Thras has been felt far beyond its own land. The Thrassian Plague which decimated Tamriel's population in the year 2260 of the First Era was their most egregious attack against the mainland, but other, subtler predations have also been recorded."

-Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 13, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

Sitting on the bed, my mind still bubbled with the decision made, wondering if I'd go back on it. A last minute epiphany could still happen, reangling the scale of the decision, but I still kept reaching the same conclusion even after two hours. The decision was more governed by the potential outcome of non-compliance than evidence they were for real. The fact that they might lead me into a trap because I was willing to defend Tamriel from a virus that couldn't kill me brought anger though. But my intuition told me their words were genuine, and I always thought I had a bit of a 'sixth sense' for that sort of thing.

I looked back at the clock: twelve-fifty-four. It was less than a minute until I'd get up and start to move towards Soch-Eena. The words which justified that action were as clear as day:

Sudeeda had come in saying _"I assume you've made your decision."_

I'd pushed out the fateful words _"Yeah, I'm going to find her for you."_

That significant claim had been mentally echoing ever since. Were those words truth? What would lie behind them was still a decision. It wasn't too late to abandon that pledge until she was actually back in the palace. But if I decided to not bring Soch-Eena back, out of fear this was indeed a trap, then we'd still have a whole new world to sort out with the cure guarded.

The clock said twelve-fifty-five, the time I'd pledged to start moving. The hand continued rotating in silence.

I stood up.

A last minute epiphany could still stop me, doubt boiling its way into validity, but that seemed unlikely after two hours. Yet maybe getting so close to a seal on the decision would bring out the kind of mental hyperactivity that might cause me to draw a new conclusion. Either way, the other side wasn't something I'd push myself to think about.

I walked forward mechanically. Sudeeda, her guards, and I were full of energy and rushing thoughts, but the rest of the palace was asleep.

Opening the door, it creaked: my mind took in every detail of the sound. Would I be helping my enemies save the world from a deadly flu, or be made a fool of by a snake of a woman?

Soch-Eena was expecting me to have cure-jars in hand when exiting the palace. She'd spent this whole night oblivious to the massive changes even I still hadn't fully processed. She still had a narrow, simplistic, easy view of how the near-future would proceed. But soon she'd too see our goal had drifted away and gotten replaced with this tangled mass. The enemy was sharper than we'd anticipated. It was like waking from a dream into harsh and complicated reality to see that plan fail.

Each step brought the end of this boiling dilemma closer.

I kept a balance in my mind: I would be open to reasons to not go along with the Argonian Royal Court but wouldn't reach out to search for those reasons. The wild possibility of going back on the decision after these hours still went through my mind, though; that would prolong this anguishing decision.

Intensity marked this night, the mightiest point in this assignment yet. It could be felt viscerally.

I turned the corner and the stairs were ahead.

The decisions which kept a Lance Corporal from death in the Legion were usually quick and thoughtless. This one had been going on mentally for two hours. This dilemma was dancing in the back of my mind every second.

It was the middle of the night, but I'd never felt more awake; it was an odd, adventurous, fresh feeling, to feel that way this late, like being more intune with the world's cycle, standing back from it instead of simply riding on it.

But so many lives were on my shoulders. Everything having a strange new coating, mundane emotions were gone. Should the decision be paid more heed, or would that simply bring needless cynicism to mess up a logical conclusion?

I began trotting down the stairs. I rapidly turned one-hundred-eighty degrees and moved down the second set. The reality ahead held tight.

My feet hit the floor and the momentum from the stairs began to fade until I was at walking pace again. My stride was mindless as I turned left.

I passed the room the cure was in. The guards in there were enough to make a plan to get it seem futile if not for the attitude gained from what I'd pulled off already.

Turning leftward, ahead was the mud-room door.

It wasn't too late to change my mind until I'd taken Soch-Eena to Sudeeda's office, but so far no epiphany had come to shift the weight of the decision.

When Soch-Eena saw her partner step outside, she'd realize something had changed because he was walking.

I opened the mudroom door. I saw my boots and began jamming my feet in them for the short trip outdoors. I wouldn't be running away with the cure and guards trailing me as originally planned. No, the night had been given a different kind of violence by Sudeeda, one that was invisible.

Shoes on, I pushed opened the other door.

Outside, I turned to close it, wondering if Soch-Eena's gaze was on my back. If so, quizzical thoughts would be in her mind.

In need of a light, I pushed magicka into my scaly hand and formed the metaphysical structures for the spell, illuminating the fog that blanketed this evening. I kept the unnatural-looking green light pressed intact while walking on the wood path.

Looking towards the lake, that box was still sticking out the water; the Sload were sleeping in that vessel. They were blissfully ignorant to the intricate, night-crawling plot going on around them, unless I was the blissfully ignorant one.

But Soch-Eena once again became forefront in my mind; she might already be observing her Imperial partner keenly. I looked over to where she should be right now, our spot. I could make out only dead shadow and shrubbery. No Argonian form could be identified. Maybe human detection had clearer limits than I'd thought. The shadows just stared back bluntly.

I turned my attention again to the path. Soon the muddy ground would host my shoes.

There was a high-pitched, soft squishing sound as I stepped on the dank ground, having arrived after a rainy evening.

Green light colored the tips and sides of various plants. Every thin, gnarled tree being illuminated was part of a land which, if Sudeeda's predictions were logical and honest, might know outsiders only as genocidal invaders.

Tribal Argonians and civilized Cyrodiils were all sleeping peacefully, unaware of the quiet turmoil taking place with their neighbors. Their lives were largely in our hands. The decision Soch-Eena and her ex-Legionary comrade made tonight would bring about huge changes, even if I was currently just a man with a light.

How would Soch-Eena react to the news? She'd see it the way I did, presumably: if we died it was because they'd taken advantage of our nobility. But how scummy that would be for them to create a trap like this; anger came at the mere thought.

A prick on my skin caused me to shake my arm a bit. A flesh fly, most likely. It made sense that people who came here would use the Hist sap to make themselves scaly, as Sudeeda's theory suggested.

Or maybe that was an accident: they were just trying to cope with the diseases and picked up scales along the way. But scaly skin was also probably easier to wash, which was crucial in a place like this, as it didn't trap filth like hairy skin.

Maybe being hairless made one more hydro-dynamic too. A wet place like this would make that a valuable trait.

Argonian faces weren't as flat as ours either, which must have help swimming even more.

Every uniquely Argonian racial trait seemed to fit with this environment. Her theory was coming together for a fresh but solid new take on Tamrielic history; that theory could be a vehicle for rich exploration into the Mythic Age. It certainly didn't sound like something she'd invented in desperation of the moment. That added to her credibility.

But the Khajiit: why would settlers here want to become furry? Maybe it was a side-effect they needed to take with acquiring their night-eyes. Maybe they made many unnecessary changes to their physiology, and that's why the ancient Argonians called them reckless and exiled them.

The Orcs, too, what had their goal been in changing from human to Betmer, thickening their bones? They seemed to have been even less acute than the Khajiit. But that was one more reason for them to be exiled.

Sudeeda's theory seemed to fit together perfectly. Pieces of history came sweeping distances to connect like parts of a jigsaw puzzle. It looked like the Argonian Royal Court researchers really had mined the past and hit a vein of gold. It wasn't a fabrication; that was comforting. It seemed more likely I would be a hero than a fool. That allowed fear to twist into thrill briefly.

When this knowledge flooded Soch-Eena, how would she react? What would her face look like as she heard the information?

What other marks had the Hist sap left on Tamriel? What other humanoids existed here? The Spriggans: maybe that's what happened to people who touched the Hist sap while it was still on the tree! That was slightly disturbing and eerie.

What other creatures might be products of the Hist sap? The pointy ears on goblins were a glaring curiosity, looking like a vestige of Elven. Were the goblins mer who had gone too far with the Hist sap?

Had I just answered the question of whether Tamriel's aboriginals were descended from Men or Elves?

This continent was being rapidly reanalyzed and re-evaluated in my mind. I was still processing the theory, which seemed more considered, encompassing, and logical than anything Imperial civilization had produced on the Mythic Age, ironically. That felt good, seeing the Argonians out due Imperials; it felt like humanoid civilization was always one, big, clean, fluently operating machine that justified comradery and had no dead-weight stragglers. The Argonian Royal Court was criminal, though, and that was a shame: they would have been a great boost to Argonian dignity otherwise.

Their theory had already been taken a little deeper by me; I felt almost eager to take a brotherly part in this fascinating research with the Argonian Royal Court. There would be rich adventures to be found in uncovering further proof of that theory. But there was a duty to destroy them, and that felt a little unfortunate now. The Legion would get its hands on that research, and then Hist sap studies would probably be locked away in some remote fort.

But it was still entertaining to muse over. Akavir, another land of beastfolk, might have Hist trees according to Sudeeda. Odd beastfolk were constantly reported coming from that continent. Were they not cautious like the Argonians had tried to enforce? The Akaviris constantly augmenting their bodies was an intimidating thought. Or maybe lack of caution would cause them to crumbled, but it hadn't yet.

What would happen once the news of what the Hist sap could do reached the Mages Guild and the Council of Healers? At least a mild amount of frenzy: businessmen, mages, and visionaries each trying to get a piece. Then there was religion: it seemed doubtful organized religion would take kindly to this kind of body-modification, as they were usually against anything that was grotesque, juicy, and vaguely disturbing. They might feel safer getting aggressive now too, given there was that militia "The Knights of the Nine" around. It would heat things up, unfortunately. At the very least, it would send the world buzzing with debate, pitting religious traditionalists against innovationists, but one shouldn't vilify himself for bringing something new and humanitarian to liven up the mage community.

I'd been walking a while, I realized. Soch-Eena's spot was close now. I shook off the deep thoughts.

I began preparing the words. _"Soch-Eena, I don't have the cure but the Argonian Royal Court wants our help. They think those Sload we saw might be planning to infect the rest of Tamriel with the Knahaten Flu."_

Then she'd start asking questions. I'd fill her in. Then we'd go, albeit maybe there would be some brief debate before we both decided to head towards the palace.

I could see our sanctuary, but I couldn't see _her_ yet. She would reveal herself, but with my mind pressed hard to the sensory scape, I felt like a pulled-back bow: an easy victim for an unpleasant startle. For now, our spot was dead. I just waited for some human change in the scenery.

She rustled out from some shrubbery, her crimson form blending well with the darkness, but the startle not as bad as expected.

I spoke, "Soch-Eena, this going to sound really weird but I think you should come back to the palace." The words were finally in the air. She stared. "The Argonian Royal Court thinks the Sload want to launch the Knahaten Flu on mainland Tamriel, and we're supposed to be their 'deniable assets' to stop it."

Now to see her reaction, to see her process it and wake up like I did two hours ago.

She stared in awe, which was expected. Every view she held about this night was getting thrown out and rewritten now that she found the answer as to why her partner was walking instead of running from the palace. Everything she'd gotten excited about and prepared for only ten minutes ago was a farce.

She finally replied "Why are you so quick to trust the Argonian Royal Court?" disgust in her tone.

Slightly hurt and degraded at the question, I also felt a little back in the mundane world where Sudeeda's story was an entertaining and soul-wrenching trap by outstandingly clever officials. Hearing someone else act like that cynicism had been solidly valid dug sharp and hard.

"Well, they had a convincing story, I mean..." I struggled to solidify the thoughts. I sighed. Was this what it felt like to be proven a fool, or had I simply been unprepared to answer? I just started repeating Sudeeda's explanation. "The Sload still hold a grudge for the genocide they had to undergo, and with Tamriel on, you know, on the edge..." I felt kind of foolish and chaotic now, not being able to tell if this was pouring mindless chatter or actual logic. "Listen, the Sload of Thras originally allied themselves with the Argonian Royal Court in hopes that the Argonian Royal Court would be a thorn in the Empire's side, and that was accomplished by the Dark Brotherhood; you know, their alliance with the Dark Brotherhood. But now the Dark Brotherhood is gone and the remainder of Tamriel is so far weakened that the Sload don't need the Argonian Royal Court anymore, so they plan to break from them and release the Knahaten Flu from Black Marsh. Then the Sload won't get blamed but the Argonians will and the Argonian Royal Court thinks _they_ might all get killed."

Her face, awe with a trace of seeming disgust, brought suspense. Would my motivation dissipate and make me feel like a fool after coming all this way?

Bugs chirped.

Leaves rustled in the wind.

"How do you know this isn't a fabrication of theirs?" She responded.

I was starting to feel childish for being so sure this would go smoothly. How much more would this night deviate from the expected?

"I don't but it makes sense and if it's true that could end up being pretty bad if we don't help them." Defending my original beliefs.

That argument seemed to get hold of her more. Her face was softer.

She inhaled with a stony, stern look at the ground before asking "And why do they want _my_ help so badly?"

She was still resistant, but softening perhaps. It seemed it had been logic that was flowing from my mouth earlier.

"They want 'deniable assets': people who, if captured, the Sload will not think worked for the Court." I restated "The Sload know the Argonian Royal Court suspected both our loyalties so naturally they would never suspect we were working for the Court." But that didn't answer why they'd want _her in particular_. "Besides, _you're_ trained to be a spy, so you could gather intelligence on the Sload a lot better than me."

She stared silent and introspective, processing the words. Synergy between us might return. It seemed smart to be gentler now so as not to throw her off this course, given I could sense she'd soon dock at the same port. Her eyes had a distant gleam as she looked into the water.

A small creature scampered up a tree.

She continued with that dull look.

But what if she chose otherwise? The cure was guarded, so it wasn't as if we could steal it as simply as originally planned. That was something to bring up.

"They told me they're guarding the cure, so it's not like we could just steal it, not without a lot more planning."

The words hurt my throat; I'd acknowledged our plan had been devastatingly obstructed.

She thought in silence.

Her voice cracked the air "You mentioned Tamriel being 'on the edge'. What do you mean by that exactly?" That was her resistance softening to caution. It felt more like she was testing the logic of the Court's proposition than debating it now.

"Well there's a ton of conflicts going on in Tamriel today. I was deployed for the rebellion in Elsweyr, and then there's that civil war in Morrowind. And the Knights of the Nine; a lot of people think they're a threat to the Elder Council and are going to start a war for the throne. Plus there's Queen Elysana. And then there's a whole slew of messes in Skyrim."

She looked out pensively again. Her eyes looked sort of glassy.

I was waiting for her next question and confident I could answer it, but my emotions were swirling, trying to find their appropriate place between her objections and her forming compliance. The mood had darkened.

She spoke again "Why would they suddenly suspect the Sload? What proof do they have the Sload are going to try this?"

I recalled asking a similar question, so maybe her cynicism wasn't something to be alarmed at. Maybe I'd had the same mannerisms when Sudeeda proposed this assignment to me.

"They said they're using the palace to research applications for Hist sap and the Sload don't seem to care about the long term effects." It felt like a bit of flimsy reasoning now that it was said aloud, given that we had no way of telling the Argonian Royal Court was being truthful about that. Unpleasant wariness returned.

"So?" She said with an infirm tone. She didn't see the hole in the proof I had apparently, but I decided to instead enlighten her on its otherwise solidity.

"So that means the Sload want the Argonian Royal Court to have strong, you know, augmented troops when the invaders come because that would drag out the fight and wear down both sides, but they don't care about how the Argonians faire after that because they'll probably be dead or no longer allies with the Sload." I seemed to be pulling her my way, a good thing, but I was apprehensive, more than I'd been originally, and I was still tracely shaken by her initial doubt.

Her face was firm, her eyes distant as she thought.

My mind bubbled with cynicism. In the palace, were they setting a trap or preparing for a civilized meeting?

She spoke as if she'd started to really give the theory due credit "So the Sload don't seem to care about the long-term well being of the Argonian Royal Court...that's why the Royals think the Sload plan to toss away this alliance."

"Yeah, well..." But I was puzzled as to why I'd said 'well...' I could find nothing to add, "yeah."

She was thinking once again.

Wings flapped in the distance.

Her face was stone except for a slight, organic sway as she stared into the depths of her own mind.

She'd soon comply, but I was more sober given that it had taken some significant time to convince her. Hopefully she was just more reluctant because these were the people she'd made the mistake of working with before; that thought didn't totally erase my apprehension, though.

Sighing from her nostrils, she continued thinking.

I broke out of the scene slightly by turning to the lake.

The moons were reflected on the water.

I turned back to her.

She hadn't moved, like a wax figure.

"How-" she abruptly stopped herself, "nevermind." Then she went back to that same look.

I glanced down at my feet, feeling a bit less rigid now that it seemed I could just wait for her to agree with me. The leather boots were already somewhat sunken in the mud and shaded by an arching fern. Grass was violently bent beneath the soles.

I looked back at her, still intending to be silent, confident she'd come to Sudeeda's office.

"I-" It barely sounded like a word and soon became a sigh. She was struggling internally, but it was more like a mental obstacle to get past than a dilemma.

"How...How do they know the Sload hold a grudge?" She'd asked that before, a sign that her resistance was weakening and she was now more precautious than objectionate. Her question was just one more obstacle to steer around to get solid compliance.

"The Dark Brotherhood." I restated, albeit gently as to not knock her off the path she was taking. "They wanted the Argonian Royal Court to be an ally of the Dark Brotherhood because it had a negative effect on the societies that hosted it."

She went back into her torrent of a mind. She was evaluating all the information I had, but soon her doubts would be patched up, even if my confidence had been somewhat eaten away. It was smart not to push her off course.

Waiting, I looked at my scaly hand. The scales already covered the joints between my palm and fingers, where lines used to be, and on the back the scales were getting close to the pointer and pinky knuckles. It sprung into me that there might be a way to reverse this curse by mixing Hist sap with a part of my body which was unaffected! My purity would be restored and I'd be saved from freakdom. There was hope to walk in public without being uncomfortable, date and marry, and have purity that would be something to treasure forever.

I looked back up at her, her gaze into the unknown steely still. Her silence meant she might have run out of questions to ask. When this silence ceased she'd likely have ended the turbulence in her mind and surrendered to our odd opportunity.

"Alright," She said, breaking the night air once more. We were bound together again. "I'll come with you." She slowly rose.

She'd complied.

We turned to begin our trek back, but dark questions had become stronger from that argument. While it was reassuring to have two minds believing the Argonian Royal Court genuine, it was also slightly sobering and nerve wracking that she hadn't fluently accepted, re-affirming the idea this was a trap. It made it more imaginable our end would come in Sudeeda's office.

But if it wasn't a trap, then our abandonment could greatly increase the chance of the end of Tamriel.

It was a heavy reality here. Even Elsweyr was a comparatively light-hearted affair. This would be a fateful night. Even the trees and bushes felt so imbued with meaning as they watched our passing towards fellow saviors of Tamriel or the grim reaper.

The former Dark Sister behind me came to mind again. Would our history continue at all after this was over? I certainly wouldn't forget her, but then again I wouldn't forget much of what was here.

But if it was a trap none of that would matter.

With the possibility of death creeping deeper, there was demonic look to the knarled trees.

What were Sudeeda and her guard doing in the palace as they waited for us? Were her soldiers getting into position to stab me when the door opened? Had she summoned more than her body-guards for the death trap?

Was this a dream? Would I wake up?

A lot was brewing mentally as we approached, but hours of thought had kept me believing this was the right choice, and Soch-Eena agreed. Maybe it was wrong to keep brooding over.

I had half a mind to tell Soch-Eena a bit of Sudeeda's Hist sap theory.

I broke the suspenseful atmosphere pushing out "You know, the Argonian Royal Court told me they think all of the indigenous Tamrielic races were once Men or Mer, but got separated into all those little Beast-races after using the Hist sap." I assumed she was comfortable with the term 'beast' since Zaheen and Sudeeda had been, and soon astonishment would open her mind too.

"The Beast-races forming through the Hist sap...how did the other indigenous races so readily access the Hist trees?" She inquired.

"They theorize their differences started forming in Argonia, and the other races got exiled when they got reckless." I responded, bringing us into the same world even more. Our footsteps continued. What would she have to say about that? The origins of the Betmer were an Era's worth of historical discovery, coveted by so many.

She didn't have anything to say.

Maybe she was more focused on what would happen in the palace. Maybe I should be too. That disturbing soberness grew a bit more. My body and how it might be used if violence were to flood from Sudeeda's office became paramount in my mind.

The palace was an intimidating sight in the distance, and every tree seemed to stand tall and judgmental over us.

Soon the intelligence of our trust would be put to the test. But if we learned it was wrong, we'd almost definitely have no where to apply it.

How death would feel I'd often wondered. Mortal wounds weren't painful until they were healing, which had always been a source of comfort, but what about the last moments of life? Would they be an extreme drowsiness? Would they be a seeping incoherency? Or would the Nine wax as the grasp on Nirn waned?

If they'd set a death trap for us, could it be defeated? It seemed futile, naturally, and brought cringe-worthy thoughts of a spear sliding into my side. But did they perhaps underestimate my power? That brought a bit of hope. But the Argonians had seen me fight those aggressive tribals, so that seemed unlikely. I could practically feel a spear-head sinking into my flesh again, sharp metal on sensitive insides. I sank back to the more oppressive world.

Still, knowing most of Tamriel had been destroyed by the Knahaten Flu would be worse than a tempest-like death. This was what being a soldier was all about, walking into a potential death trap and knowing full well it was so. And unpleasant as it usually was, it purified spirits, showed human willingness for fluent sacrifices, and gave a sense of being in touch with the world. I could survive the Knahaten Flu, but this warrior would take the risk of getting executed to help stop it. That way of looking at it was a pain killer. I would risk my life to prevent Tamriel's devastation, just like in Morrowind and Elsweyr, only now the threat to Tamriel was much bigger, the biggest terror that had ever come from the mortal world perhaps.

The fate of Argonia had shrunk in my mind. Hopefully Argonia wasn't all that was really at stake, which might be realized in terrible, dissolving last moments. Death in Sudeeda's office was an ominous thought that brought an internal quivering: blurry, violent last moments making my mission and self shrink to insignificance.

The planks were close.

The end of life could be in that palace, but hopefully tonight would simply be the next chapter of our time here. Anticipation squeezed tighter. A coldness-like sensation was in my stomach. A funny feeling went through my bones.

Somewhere back home the Elder Council was comfortably in their palace, unaware that our mission had become so epic and revealing, oblivious to the Sload's part in it. _Everyone_ in Cyrodiil was oblivious.

It would be odd to see Cyrodiil again: stone builders, solid footing everywhere, clear horizons, clean and colorful clothing, and no giant birds. Months I'd been in this swamp it felt like, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of weeks.

The wood path was visible ahead. Soon we'd be in Sudeeda's office again. Perhaps her guards were standing at the ready to stab us when we came in.

Still, if their claims were honest, it would lead to an ironic partnership with the Argonian Royal Court in stopping the Sload.

But then we'd have to go back to being enemies. The thought of working together to save the world only to turn on each other the next minute brought weird, twisting, uncomfortably deep, bitter-sweet and mysterious emotions. And once we and the Royals did go back to be opposing entities, things would be more rugged for me, and getting the cure when it was so well guarded would be a whole new conundrum.

But there were better times to think about that.

Now I was on the planks, taking Soch-Eena to the palace occupants, the very people who'd originally wanted her dead. Maybe they still did.

Sudeeda, her guards, and this pair were the only ones awake. It was our night, a night of tension and trust and deep-reaching irony.

I opened the mudroom door without bothering to take off my boots. Sudeeda'd gotten their hunted woman into their palace; I got an unsettling feeling this was a trap as we entered the hall.

We turned right.

I felt extra conscious of every inch closer I was getting to her office, and of every creak that might be heard. Were they all armed and ready at the door to that room?

But if Soch-Eena wasn't sufficiently afraid for her own safety, no one else should be. That thought brought a _little _relief.

The near-silence of the palace caused me to hear the details of our own footsteps. I was desperate to hear _something_.

We turned left.

Passing the cure room once more I remembered the guards there would be something to puzzle over again if and when we'd finished helping the Argonians deal with the Sload.

But what if the Argonian Royal Court changed its ways once it no longer had reason to please the Sload? There was a whole ream of possibilities to venture into there, but this wasn't the time.

We turned right.

Was I leading Soch-Eena to death or bringing her to another mission for the Argonian Royal Court? Either way, it wouldn't be solely my fault with her willing.

We turned right again, stairs ahead.

Tension squeezed tighter and the funny, nearly tingly sensations of anticipation built up.

The stairs had a dead gaze. They would lead us up to the room of climax and answers in the most inconspicuous of hours.

Risking one's life because innocents might die otherwise was a soldier's way, though. This could be the time to show my willingness for self-sacrifice to the Gods.

The stairs were close now.

My right foot touched a step. Thrusting my legs up each one, I hoped a friendly meeting had been prepared in that room.

My stomach ached, but I could also help save Tamriel from annihilation in a mission that was not fueled by anger but simple, clean motives. That brought energy.

On the flat area between the two pieces of the stair case, I turned and we began up the second half.

It would certainly be interesting plotting with the Argonians to save Tamriel, but what would happen after that? Would we immediately turn on each other for a period of co-existence filled with paranoia and stealth? Where would we be when the Sload were deemed no longer a threat? Would they immediately try to kill us? Would we immediately try to kill _them_? Or would Soch-Eena and I just run so the enemy couldn't slit our throats then or in our sleep? The thought of fleeing after we and Argonian Royal Court had worked together to save the world dug deep and hard. It seemed dreamy and slightly hurtful.

The top floor was close.

My feet touched the top floor.

All the wood and door knobs were almost mockingly still even though this place might be imbued with such significance. The night's suspense could be felt gutturally. The Argonians were waiting.

I was focused on the corner ahead.

We turned left.

Funny feelings ran through my body. There was a strange emptiness in my chest.

Was there some kind of auditory indicator of what they could be doing? Even a creak must be possible to translate into some useful information.

We turned right.

Then ahead was the array of office doors, mostly uninhabited paper-storage rooms at these hours, but one the portal to extreme significance. Might I need to shoot frost tonight? The knob to Sudeeda's office was the center of attention. My breaths grew irregular. Time had been gruelingly slow getting here, but soon it would come to an end and we would know the truth. I clenched my teeth. A sensation both hot and cold flowed through me. Many twisting alliances were made in this land. When I opened the door might metal be violently jabbed into my gut, or would this feeling dissipate to calm and eventually to euphoric relief? It was the iconic mystery of the night.

Knowing we were right would be an oasis in the desert.

The door to truth was seconds away. In the last few hours so much had shifted that it felt like a totally different world.

I was extra conscious of my spell casting, scaly hand. There were only a few more doors to pass. Every foot fall of mine was sharp in my ears. The door was so close now.

The knob was within reach.

Soch-Eena behind, the metal seemed to stare at me. Upon opening that door, fear would flood unpleasantly into or pleasantly out of me. There was a light, near tingling sensation on the hand that would turn the knob. I had an acidic urge to defecate.

But what was I waiting for to cross the line?

Nothing.

With courage, I lifted my hand.


	34. Burden of Freedom

A/N: Due to some of The BlackJack's advice, I've made several minor alterations to this chapter.

* * *

"...the Knahaten Plague made the land uninhabitable by all but the Argonians themselves." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 13, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

As his hand neared the knob, my muscles tightened.

Detect Life.

The precautionary idea shot into me.

I pushed his hand down, causing him to jerk.

He looked back with wide, panicky eyes, the childish vulnerability we were both feeling. I gave him the "one minute" sign.

The world dissolved so it became less shapely and more of a sea of shifting, swirling colored grains...

Surreally colored blobs began to form, one the shape of a person sitting, and two the shape of a person standing. It was Sudeeda sitting, her two bodyguards by her side, just like normal.

Tension floated away.

"It's fine," I whispered, "open the door." There was so much fear before, but now I felt like laughing.

He opened the door to reveal Sudeeda. "I am pleased you kept your word." She said "We have already come far in formulating a plan."

We both sat down. An eagerness to let the glory of the world flow into me was permeating my mind.

"Gathering information on the Sload's intentions for the near future will inevitably be a difficult task, but you two are far too valuable for us to put in critical danger." Peace would make up the rest of the night, and Gods love the ability to stay and walk and dazzle in this world another day. "Our first plan may not be our last but we will not see the Sload for another two months if we do not act within the next nine hours. For this reason our requests may seem quick and...radical." _Radical_? Suspicion began creeping into me.

"**Fights-up-close**," Hearing her use my real name hit hard, "Our current plan will require you to attach yourself to the Sload vessel, riding to Thras itself." Thras itself!? "The journey will take approximately three and a half days." Three and half days!? Those words had serious gravity, the proposal feeling like a slap to the face. She'd claimed she wouldn't put me in critical danger!

"It is a common rumor the Sload write nothing down. We do not know if this is true, but we have entrusted you with a valuable and fragile Dwemer artifact which I will put in the waterproof storage I have provided. It can absorb sound and repeat it indefinitely." A device like that would have been the subject of a lot more of my thoughts if not for the mission being proposed. "We have reason to believe when the Sload return to Thras, they meet with officials and discuss...our status immediately upon exiting the vessel. There is a very high probability this conversation will reveal all we need to know, though we cannot send someone versed in the Sloadic language with you. You will need to have it recorded on this device."

The proposal was to attach to a hostile vehicle for three and half days until I made into an entire nation which would identify me as an intruder; how could she not expect outrage? To blow through the proposal so quickly had she needed to rehearse? It seemed like a death warrant to agree to this assignment. Aware of a slightly acerbic tone, I let out "Three days in the ocean?" Surreally ridiculous it seemed! It would mean speeding through salt-water for four days, worrying about enemies all that time and having a seriously questionable ability to take care of normal functions. "How will I eat and drink!?" My tone was over the line, perhaps; I was worried about her response but brewing some fight in me just incase.

"We do not know how deep the ship normally goes once in the ocean but if you are too deep to reach the surface while grappled we do know the Sload will stop their vessel for meals and sleep. This would be an ideal time for you to detach and eat." Not as ridiculous as it originally sounded, but...

I thought over the plan: holding onto a moving vessel, being stuck only a hull away from my enemy for days, even in sleep. It was still bitter knowledge, and I felt violated being forced into it. It provoked a helpless blow of outrage. If those scary three days were survived, then what? "And how am I going to get back?"

She sighed and sagged slightly. **Takes-initiative** said she wouldn't put me in critical danger and yet she was thinking this over! How could she have been so confident about such a thinly considered plan? Anger began to simmer inside me. "That is a subject of heavy contention, but we believe the best course of action would be to try to commandeer the vessel after it is exited and drive it back to the palace."

Taking their vessel and driving it all the way back across the ocean!? I wasn't even a navigator, let alone someone who knew anything about Sloadic technology! Yet they expected me to handle both the Sloadic home world and technology like a master.

"You said I wasn't being put at critical risk!" I felt sick. I was shaking, too, but trapped in the bounds of my position as an inferior.

"This plan is not final, we can discuss improvements if you wish." I'd gotten off easier than I thought once again, a small relief. This plan wasn't fate. I should calm down. The violence in mind and body becoming something I was more aware, I tried to let it fade.

But looking into the plan again, the proposal necessitated I spend every function of every day within feet of my enemies, sleeping, eating, drinking on the way there. That was already a strenuous task. And how much food would be needed for the trip to and fro? That would require more than a back-pack full. "How will I even have enough food and fresh water for the journey there and back?" If the plan was almost reconstructed beyond recognition by the end of night, I wouldn't be surprised. It seemed fundamentally flawed. I would suspect their sincerity if not for my freedom of input regarding it, but maybe I still should.

"We should be able to pack you with enough for three days comfort. For the way back, that will require a bit more ingenuity. You may wish to infiltrate the vessel while the Sload are eating breakfast with us and hide food in the cargo-hold before the mission."

Hiding food from them in their own ship? It sounded like a very shaky safety measure. If they so much as noticed an extra box in their cargo, I might starve.

But if they found a misplaced box in their ship, would they think to throw it out? Maybe not. Maybe this was better thought-out than it originally seemed.

Still, her far-fetched proposition was to go to Thras. That was the place from which the plague that nearly wiped out Tamriel came from. And stopping the spread of a disease, one slightly less manevolent than the Thrassian Plague, was our goal. "What about the Thrassian Plague, is that just stewing in their homeland?" How long had it taken her to formulate this plan? Had she consulted anyone?

"They may release it as a security measure but we find it highly unlikely the disease is a ubiquitos element of Isles of Thras. The Sload are not immune to their own plague, they simply possess a cure."

It was still a possibility, though, and one that could lead to dooms-day effects. I replied, "You expect me to travel to the Isles of Thras even when I have a chance of bringing back the Thrassian Plague?" That could be something worse than what they feared the Sload might do…supposedly. Suspicion of their motives might hold serious water.

"We will send you with the cure to drink on the way back if you start showing symptoms of infection but we find it unlikely you will be discovered if the mission is to succeed." The cure to the Thrassian plague was in their possession? That sounded suspicion. The sense of façade grew, and my sense of compassion waned to be replaced with bitter, constricted anger. Maybe there was a link to greater plot behind Sudeeda's eyes, one they figured they could sucker me into.

"Why would _you_ have the cure to the Thrassian plague?" The conversation's aggression level was something I was monitoring closely. A little tension formed inside me.

"That is not important to your mission." The reply was sharp, acerbic speech now coming from her, too.

What if this was some kind of set up? Anger grew in me. "It's important to convincing me this isn't a suicide mission!" The situation was shaking me, but I was secretly building up counter-power incase this turned into a fight, all the while gutturally tensing in hopes it wouldn't. What would happen if she decided she could no longer deceive me? Would she order her two body guards to take us out?

She sighed with seeming distress and looked at her legs pensive and frazzled again. My guard went down. It seemed she was about to reveal something. I listened intently. "The cure for the Knahaten Flu and Thrassian Plague are the same substance. That is why the Sload posses the cure we constantly need to be resupplied with." A new curiosity. The Thrassian Plague and the Flu were connected, but how? I'd thought earlier it was weird that the Sload possessed the cure to the Knahaten Flu, but I'd originally figured they were just more alchemically advanced than Tamrielics.

"But why..." Trying to articulate a question I hadn't quite molded into words yet. The two being the same substance didn't make any sense. Wouldn't that necessitate them being the same plague, or...

"The Knahaten Flu is a version of the Thrassian Plague modified with the Hist sap to make Argonians immune to its effects."

Yet another surprise in Helstrom.

Or what if it was a lie to get me to bring back the Thrassian Plague?

But they had the Knahaten Flu, so why…

My mind felt like it was pressing into itself, thus incapacitated.

Sudeeda spoke again, "Now, I think it is time to move onto the details of this mission. In this room I've gathered the intended grapple for use on the Sloadic vessel. The Sload attach their ship to our docks with a rope using a metal loop at the bottom of their vehicle. This will be a perfect spot to insert the hook, though it must be done within the frame of time between our rope's detachment and the impending movement of the vehicle. Once they are all onboard it usually takes about a minute for the ship to start moving. However, the grapple should be removed before the Sload dock at Thras or you may be compromised, as we suspect they would anchor their vessel in Thras as well. Now, onto the details of the recorder." A grapple; that would allow me a bit more freedom while being attached to the vessel and no doubt alleviate many potential muscular aches, but it was still a very repressive way to spend four days, and wouldn't help once the Sloadic vehicle arrived at Thras. Yet the more details she explained the less worry seemed warranted.

**Takes-initiative** picked up a bizarre looking device on her desk out of an odd, metal trunk. She was about to continue, but I still had an objection: was it really safe to assume the Sload would not notice someone latched onto the underside of the ship? Bringing that up seemed like a good idea, but now more like a calm and friendly test of logic.

"The Sload won't notice someone attached to the bottom of their vessel?" I asked, assuming there was a positive part of this she hadn't revealed.

"That is what we predict. The Sload also have a tendency to buoy themselves as a default form of behavior: they are unlikely to explore below the level of their vessel unless you arouse their suspicion, yet you'd be wise to press yourself to the bottom of the vehicle when the Sload exit their ship." That wasn't the relief childishly expected. A sheet of helpless bitterness laid itself on my mind.

I needed to focus, though. Did I? Yes, the bigger picture later could be brooded over later.

She looked back at the small Dwemer machine as if she'd momentarily forgotten what she'd been talking about. It roughly looked like a small trumpet attached to cylinder with a crank. On the desk was another cylinder.

Sudeeda put her hand on the crank. The Dwemer sound-capturing device is what it must have been; to imagine technology progressing far enough to recreate a conversation was slightly frightening and disturbing.

"Turn this crank when their conversation begins. You must continue doing so until their talking ceases or you are no longer able. If the latter happens, undo this clamp," She demonstrated, separating a now visible needle under the 'trumpet' from the cylinder. There wasn't too much to fiddle with. The device possessed an unexpected simplicity, "and rotate the cylinder ninety degrees. You may do this three times before the cylinder will be expended. If the conversation continues, it may need to be replaced." She undid the back end and removed the unclamped cylinder a bit before pressing it back to the anterior and re-clamping the rear.

I wondered how long of a conversation that device could capture. It didn't matter, though.

"Knowing this device, I highly suggest you stay close to the conversation and do your best to point the receiving end towards the speakers. This will be understandably difficult as you will need to conceal yourself while doing so."

Such difficulties made me feel once again bitter and a little shaken at the proposal, but what she said couldn't be logically objected to: She knew the device better than I and was aware it would be difficult to capture the conversation. At least the Shadow power would get me some sure time to come out from cover and point the receiver directly at the talkers.

Would there be foliage to hide in? What would Thras be like? Asking seemed appropriate.

"What kind assessments do you have on the Sloadic homeland? How much do you know about the region?" It was a little mind blowing to think of an assignment outside of Argonia or Cyrodiil; a Gideon Shadowscale couldn't have dreamed about this kind of life at age nineteen. It was hard to believe that was only months ago.

"There is very little data existing on the Thrassian Isles, unfortunately, and we are little aware of the securities at their disposal, but the Sload are known to be advanced magically and mechanically a moderate degree beyond Tamrielic understanding. We have, in fact, taken the liberty of providing you with four books which detail what is known about the Isles of Thras." She said, pushing a stack of texts forward. Not only was I diving into an ocean of unknown dangers, but the only hope to mediate that fact was thorough study; I ached.

The first was a small, red book with black lettering titled The Thrassian Genocide: First Hand Accounts from the All Flags Navy. I picked it off the column to create a "finished-viewing" stack. Below it was a black, big book with gold-lettering, titled simply Sload. The third was a blue, moderate-sized book with silver letters which read Interaction with the Sload in the First Era. The last one was a small, also blue book with red letters titled The Sload since the Plague.

Figuring I should get a taste of what awaited tonight, I decided to bring the last book towards me. Opening it to the table of contents for a general overview, I began reading:

_Table of Contents:_

_Preface__.......................................................................................3_

_Hostile encounters__.....................................................................7_

_Summerset Isle........................................................................8_

_Hammerfell..............................................................................22_

_Valenwood...............................................................................32_

_Oceanic...................................................................................38_

_Conclusions............................................................................50_

_Friendly encounters__.................................................................57_

_Summerset Isle......................................................................58_

_High Rock...............................................................................75_

_Hammerfell............................................................................87_

_Black Marsh...........................................................................105_

_Conclusions...........................................................................117_

_Sightings__...............................................................................132_

_Hammerfell............................................................................133_

_Summerset Isle.....................................................................148_

_High Rock..............................................................................165_

_Black Marsh...........................................................................177_

_Cyrodiil..................................................................................191_

_Conclusions...........................................................................194_

_Status of Thras__.....................................................................198_

_Conclusion__............................................................................218_

"The Sload will be leaving at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. They are scheduled for breakfast with us from eight-thirty to nine-thirty and this would be the ideal time to hide your food in their vehicle. We will both stay up through the night. Knock on this door if you have any important questions or suggestions to revise the mission." Thinking of a better plan or studying was a decision to make. What an anguishing night this would be! Frustration grew.

"Any part I should play in this?" Fidelis inquired. Sympathy for his partner might have provoked that question.

"You will have your uses, but for now it is too early. Simply stay with us and await further orders." A tinge of jealousy came in me.

"Got it." He was annoyingly unappreciative of his circumstances or just trying not to rub it in me, perhaps. Probably the latter.

Densius had already stood up, I realized.

I stood up too, the oceanic and intimidating trials ahead commanding I not waste a second. Closing the book, I proceeded to hold it to my left side. Then I picked up Interaction with the Sload in the First Era and tucked it to my left side also. Then I picked up the third. I struggled to squeeze it in without disturbing the other two. I managed. This was an awkward way to carry, but there would be a lot more I'd need to hold. Finally, I picked up the fourth. There was more absurd-looking struggle, but ultimately it fit.

**Takes-initiative** became my focus again. She put the Dwemer device back in the odd metal box, closed it and pulled a tab, and then pushed it and an identical, opened one towards me. "The empty one may be used for food storage which will be hidden in the Sloadic vessel. Food can be retrieved from six-thirty onwards in the kitchen. You can tell them I sent you, and I will vouch if necessary." With my right hand I hooked the handle of the one with the recorder in it, then had to awkwardly squirm to get the other around my left. Ready to leave, I turned to the exit, raw with stress.

Densius held the door for me as my mind was stuck on the horrid burdens ahead. I walked, goofily loaded with items.

I stepped out and he closed the door.

Where to go next?

Then I felt a tap on the shoulder.

He whispered "They're giving you a sample of the cure for this mission. This might be the only chance for one of us to bring the proof back to Cyrodiil. You can show the recording you get to the Elder Council instead."

The decision about Argonian fate was once again close, the crushing significance of this next week amplified.

The dilemma had returned, after its suppression had made me relieved. Now it was back to torment. The fear and stress grew. I felt like groaning. I still wasn't sure whether to give the Empire that proof. Now this decision had two layers.

The bliss it would bring to just forsake ethics and let the world do what it would without my part in it!

A spurt of frustration at the unjust mechanics of the universe came again, followed by the misery, weighty and horrible, that this is how it had to be.

"Want me to show you where the proof is so I can give it to you now?" He whispered. I'd been silent for a long time. _"Want me to show you where the proof is so I can give it to you now?" _Any additional decisions were painful tonight, but there was no reason to turn down possession.

"Sure." I whispered back, albeit with a mind still swirling and stormy and stretched thin by stress.

Grabbing the proof would require another free hand, and I decided it should be my empty-box carrying left. To set down the box in that hand I began lowering myself, thinking of how ridiculous I looked, until the long metal box was at about a twenty degree angle from the floor. I dropped it with a still-loud clatter.

I stood and turned back to Densius.

We started heading towards the stairs while I receded into my mind.

The decision about showing the proof to the Empire didn't have to be made _tonight_. That was a small relief, but it didn't mean I shouldn't start considering it yet.

However, if this far-fetched mission was a trap, that was something necessary to determine within several hours. The premise seemed crazy: attach to a ship for three and a half days, listen-in on the Sload in their own homeland which we might have no strategic knowledge on, and commandeer the same vehicle no one in the Argonian Royal Court knew how to use and get all the way back to Black Marsh.

If it was a death trap, though, it would also be a laputan one: the supposed victim had hours to think it over, and if the Sload spotted me they may well be evadible or killable for this Shadowscale.

But there was mental backlash: maybe that's precisely why it was a good trap, that its 'absurd' nature did well to disguise it. The less likely one thought one was walking into a trap, the more likely it was a trap because it would work better with the victim unsuspecting; That was a philosophical obstacle I'd no idea how I kept getting passed.

We trotted down the stairs as I ached with laborious thoughts, wondering if there was something to uncover or if it was simply an undefeatable paradox.

But upon hitting the ground I realized suspecting it was a trap because I thought it wasn't a trap was a contradiction. That was the forgotten key.

I tried to bury the previous cynicism quickly. But where had I left off?

The mudroom was ahead as I tried to recall where my thoughts had been. My mind was silent, though. I wondered what my question had been as I went through the door which Densius was holding opened.

But if I took a mental break I could pick up later much faster, so it was wise to do so.

I located my shoes. I began jamming my feet into them, but there was a feeling of guttural stress at having a serious decision to make.

My shoes were on.

Densius opened the door outside and that surreal green began emanating from his hand.

I felt worn by the situation already, with an urge to beg Sithis...no, whatever else was putting me in this situation, for mercy.

I was holding back tears at the anguishing thoughts of all I was expected to do and conclude.

Densius had it easy: this whole assignment was on my shoulders now. Tough decisions weren't in front of him, he could just go with the flow, and that was the key to happiness. Maybe one day he'd be unfortunate enough to find himself with the powers I had. I'd spend the next week in perpetual fear, while he spent the next week in the palace, doing as he leisured. Then, according to his plan, the Legion would one day come and rescue him after the Argonian Royal Court thought their rogue agent had been Killed In Action. But if the Argonian Royal Court started to hear about an Imperial offensive before Legion troops arrived at the palace, would Densius be blamed? Or would they put together that I had gone back to Cyrodiil? That would still make him suspect, though.

We were almost off the planks, I noticed. Densius had just hit the mushy surface.

Then I did.

My train of thought had been...where? Then I remembered the important question I was dealing with was whether this was a suicide mission.

My mind was silent, though I tried to scrape-up some kind of logic to build with.

How could one figure that out? The night air was alive with bugs, but my mind was blank. Where would I start weighing probabilities? My mind came back with nothing.

It seemed necessary to extend the break.

I shifted my focus to the immediate world, hoping to come back to the topic refreshed and with quick, gloriously efficient rationale. Around me were thick, tall trees and many bushes. Frogs croaked. Low lying ferns also arched lazily with tips on the ground. A gust of wind rustled the leaves.

The stairs to the dungeon where I'd once been held, where that Dwemer equipment had been brought, along with many sad-faced tribals, was about to be passed by us. Now we were working with that very same brutal organization, supposedly to save the world.

There was a distant bird cry emphasizing the vastness of my native land, which I might hand over to the Empire.

In the lake were the Sload: the bizarre new race which had tumbled into my life so recently...this evening, in fact, though it felt like longer. They were oblivious to our intricate plots as they slept in their ship.

Or was I getting fooled into a suicide mission? Was it too early to think about that again? What was the criteria?

My mind went silent, but I scraped and squeezed for something, all for naught. No answers.

Maybe I could relay the concerns of this being a suicide mission to Densius.

The leafy ground groaned subtly under our feet.

When should I break the air and ask him?

The North-West corner of the palace was close.

Maybe it would be appropriate to ask when he turned to grab the map. Why not?

In the meantime I wouldn't push myself for answers. I attempted to keep the questions at bay. I tried to suppress them to keep my mind blank and silent.

Blank and silent.

I would suppress my thoughts until nothing existed except what was in front of me.

Densius had stopped by three bushes which formed a U like shape.

He walked around to get to the top of that U. He bent down to pick up the map; to think a paper that important had lied in nature. Densius rose again, holding what contrasted with the wilderness. He began walking towards me with the somewhat limp sheet of paper in hand. Unable to move my left arm with all the books I held, I could only open my hand. I did so very clearly. Once he was close enough he carefully moved it between my thumb and fingers in this ridiculous-looking situation.

He held it still, I clasped it, he let go and the opposite side went limp. To look at exactly what this map was, I lifted up the limp side. It had many colored lines and shapes, albeit many smeared, but still legible. It was my decision about the Empire incarnate.

But as we stood in the night together when we were supposed to be in the controlled indoor, I remembered what I wanted to ask:

"You think this is a suicide mission?"

I immediately rushed over the sentence, wondering how he'd take it and whether it sounded stupid. It was the 'insanity' kept so secret showing a tiny piece of itself, and making me tense already. It was ridiculous to suspect this was a suicide mission, some part of me knew, or was incorrectly convinced of.

"Noooo...why?" He asked as if there hadn't been a trace of that in his thoughts. My mind-set really did put me in a totally different world.

"It just sounds a little too risky, and compounded with the Argonian Royal Court trying to kill me..." My idea sounded dumb now, and that was a source of hope. I would be glad to see my 'intelligence' proven wrong. I wished I could be like him, like everyone else.

"Well, that's a pretty inefficient way to kill someone." He was repeating some of my thoughts, and that comfortably added to their sense of solidity.

But it didn't seem to make much sense as an assignment, on the other hand.

"Doesn't seem like an efficient way to gather information, either." It felt like logic was losing its distinctive sharpness in me. I wasn't sure I was making sense. My mind was already starting to burn-out.

"It's hard to think of a better way, given the resources they've got." He replied.

True.

But what if he was trying to deceive me? That shot back to break the mood.

Yet he wouldn't want his partner to die, as then she couldn't help the Empire. Those two reasons linked toghether fluently to form a logical construct I could stand on top of. Good.

Unless...

No. That was logical, thus providing a wholesome blanket of relief as there was one less behemoth of a decision to make.

"Right, I guess I should get to studying those books they gave me." I replied.

I turned to walk back and heard him following. Intending to get the map to fit in my pocket, I began to crumple up it with the dexterous fingers of my left hand. Then carefully arching rightwards and stretching my shoulder, I fit it in.

That paper was iconic of the remaining dilemma: once the conversation was recorded, should I return to the Argonian Royal Court or the Imperial Palace?

What would the soldier behind me think if he saw his comrade return here? Would he be secretly seething at a betrayal only we two were aware of? Then what? Would he be furious, thinking I'd blown the Empire's one shot? Might he try to kill me?

I was starting to feel sick again, with a slight sharpness in my throat and behind and below my eyes, thinking of how unlucky I was to have this choice.

But if the Empire was shown proof of the Argonian Royal Court, then what?

They wouldn't be able to go into Argonia because I would have to drink the cure to purge my body of the defenses of the marsh to begin with; that would mean I couldn't bring it back for study and replication.

They couldn't take out the Argonian Royal Court, it would seem, but maybe Ocato simply wanted the proof so the Elder Council would grant him permission to be Emperor.

But then how did they expect us to make it this far to bring back that proof?

I remembered my theory that this was a survivability test, that we were sent here not because we were exceptional, but average, so that if we survived they knew the Legion could too. But this couldn't be expected to happen to anyone else, so we failed the test, certainly; First Densius had received immunities through a welcoming ritual which only occured because we needed shelter and met the right tribe, and then we'd been sedated and brought here only because of the curiosity of an Imperial surviving this deep and the fact that we were a small enough group to all tranquilize at once.

We again passed the stairs to the dungeon where I was held just...this evening.

So where did all my thoughts put me? It would seem the Legion couldn't take out the Argonian Royal Court or conquer Argonia. The latter was a relief, as it took more of the dilemma off my shoulders. But did that mean Ocato's motives were simply power, that he was a liar and therefore there was already some reason to believe he didn't deserve power? No, because he must have expected that if we survived to bring back proof, so could an invasion force, which clearly wasn't true. But now power was the only thing that would result from the proof, if even. And why _should_ I help Ocato get power. No reason?

Was that the dilemma's end?

No, the map would provide Ocato means to locate the palace, so Legionaries wouldn't have to be captured like we were.

But how would they survive?

They'd send an all Argonian force, perhaps.

I stepped onto the planks.

Could the Legion assemble an all Argonian force to deal with the Argonian Royal Court? Probably. The Legion would have enough man power to take out the Court, but not enough to take over the whole province; that was ideal! Yes, maybe this was the liberating answer!

But what if those soldiers took cure samples from the palace and brought them back? I sunk again. This was a tangled issue, as large and hard to grasp as politics itself. I felt like groaning.

We were almost at the mudroom door. I opened it and we both stepped in.

I peeled my shoes off, then opened the door.

As we walked the hall, it was clear we'd part ways soon. He'd be able to go to bed and spend the rest of the week leisurely, unlike his partner.

I got back thinking about the Empire. If I didn't show the evidence to the Elder Council, the Argonian Royal Court would continue to rule Argonia. But if I did show the evidence the Empire would likely rule Argonia and Ocato would also take power.

We turned another corner. The stairs were just ahead.

I began climbing up the steps, Densius' footsteps shortly following.

Up stairs was the sight of the library door, the place where I'd likely spend the next six hours.

As I turned towards the room, Densius went a different way.

About to enter the library, I decided to lighten my load a bit more. The box in my right hand seemed like it could be put down. I crouched low and laid the box on its side, then stood.

I opened the door.

The library was lit sparsely, with mild shadow covering most of the room. Each chair and table pair was illuminated by a lone candle, though. The chairs were all fancy, curvy, and tokenly cushioned. Needing a chair and table to set my books on, I turned and headed to the closest pair.

Close to the table, I removed the first book, careful to make sure it moved independently, and put in on the table. The next one was looser and easier. I continued, difficulty waning as the process moved along. Finally the last book was laid to rest.

Relieved to finally have unloaded, I plopped down on the chair.

I looked around the room. There was a rug, intricate and almost hellishly jumbled in its decoration, several thinly cushioned chairs, wild-legged tables with short candles, a chandelier that was curvy and golden, and one desk with a hefty amount of writing fancy writing utensils; those would compose my company for tonight.

But this chair was what I'd be most intimately acquainted with. This was where I'd be spending the rest of the night, either studying or achingly thinking over the impending decisions or trying to create a better plan than Sudeeda's; but worst of all was deciding which to do.


	35. Condensed

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor alterations due to advice from The BlackJack.

* * *

"The first maps we have from cartographers who sailed to Thras and returned to tell the tale show a group of sixteen islands, in a semicircle like a partially a submerged coral atoll. Over the centuries other maps have been charted by spies and the number and size of islands has varied, suggesting that the amphibious Sload have a volatile kingdom which fluctuates in land mass, either by the tides or some other, less natural means. The largest of the islands (called Agonio on the most recent maps) seems the most stable, though later maps show it considerably larger than earlier ones.

The true and permanent aspect of Thras, however, is not something mapmakers would know, merely by looking at the land above the surface. Many an Altmer has been captured by the Sload, and a few have escaped to tell of the brackish lagoon in the center of the island chain. There the buoyant creatures may move about with relative quickness and grace through an intricate network of coral formations and ancient shipwrecks."-Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 13, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Infront of Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

Now all I could do was crouch here, waiting to hear the front door open. Then I'd watch until they all got in the vessel. Then I'd run into the lake and finally grapple on. After that would begin the three and a half days in the wackiest and most far-fetched mission a Shadowscale had ever faced; I'd be strapped to an enemy ship speeding through the ocean for half a week and end up in Thras, an intimidating prospect. I was tense, throat muscles giving a slight upwards push.

The door they'd be leaving through was rather close, but with a thick of shrubbery to the North and a tree to the East they wouldn't see me.

Goggles on and grapple rope awkwardly wrapped around my right arm past the elbow, this Shadowscale would have looked like a clown if she could be seen.

But it was good I'd spent some time thinking about how to improve the journey to Thras. It was my idea to add goggles incase the salt-water irritated the eyes, or the ship moved too fast for my eyes to stay comfortably opened. It was also my idea to put the contents of my back-pack in another water-proof container since it seemed otherwise inevitable salt-water would slowly seep in and mess up my food; plus, albeit not to their knowledge, it was also where I was now storing the proof. It was alarming to think of what grievous failures might have happened if I hadn't suggested those and just how flimsy the planning was.

With the food long ago placed in the under-belly of the vessel, I could only wait for them to finish breakfast. They were stalling, seeing it as just another visit with the Argonian Royal Court.

My legs were beginning to ache again, but it wasn't a good idea to sit down: they could be out any second.

I continued to wait for the sound of the front door, which would indicate the beginning of action. But so far only natural sounds filled the air.

A bit of buzzing, black fuzz: a bug, flew erratically in front of my eye. I shooed it away.

Like any time I was forced to wait in concealment, I felt intimately acquainted with the cover I was looking at. In this case, it was the tree. Bits of moss were streaking various parts of the bark, which was like an epic landscape: full of forests, hills, valleys, and ridges. When it wasn't that, it was a canvas for nature's ridge-drawings. In one area, a buck-toothed pig's face. In another, a cute fly. In another, a mechanical hand pinching a load of junk.

Leaves rustled to my right as a lizard scampered by.

The breakfast continued to draw out.

Maybe all this waiting provided a good opportunity to think about the decision regarding the Empire.

But no, thoughts that sticky had potential to become a serious quagmire when I already had a mind so unstable and brittle from all the decisions I'd made.

Instead I simply continued tarrying for the opening of that door.

Still, the ache in my legs, largely thanks to the heavy back-pack, made it tempting to sit down. It wouldn't take that long to get back up again; maybe it was a good idea.

I plopped down, tail brushing the branches of a bush and bottom sinking into the mud. Resting my legs felt good.

Comfortable for the moment, I'd soon have to learn to use the ocean and mysterious Sloadic homeland to my advantage. I'd be presented with vast new worlds to see and survive in, and that thought put apprehension's soft tingling in my chest. I'd be forced to operate in the Isles of Thras, a kind of environment I'd never been trained for and even the Argonian Royal Court knew little about.

Far off, I heard the falling of a branch.

My knuckles needed a cracking. I obliged. It brought a hearty set of cracks.

When would that door whine opened? Every second it grew slightly more likely, but failed to happen.

When they did enter the ship, would they find that extra food and fresh water I'd hid in their cargo? And what if they did? What would they think to see a foreign object stored in their own vessel? Sithis - no, fate - forbid they would decide to open it up out of curiosity, contaminating it with salt water! Then I might have no choice but to suffer with hunger for the next four days, an epic hardship and spirit whittler. A bit of dread was in me.

Or what if they threw it out entirely, thus depriving me of the bottles of fresh water as well!?

But maybe, if worst came to worst, I could detour to Summerset Isle to avoid dieing of thirst, as that would be a much shorter journey than getting back to Helstrom.

To navigate to even there, though, meant the colossal challenge of figuring out how to work the ship. I imagined various buttons, not knowing what lurching they might bring. It was an unpleasant image.

If I made some kind of navigational error, I could be traveling for days only to realize I was getting further from the destination. I'd die far away and alone. Epic anguish would last days, and there'd be nothing to see but endless salt-water. It was a morbid thought, and sticky too. It was a picture that brought a thin wisp of gaping horror not felt since childhood.

I could only hope land other than Thras would be visible from the hijacking point. Then, being able to see how the ship moved relative to it, I'd have somewhere easier to navigate to and hopefully get fresh water from. That would be a sweet, fluffy security.

Knowing the unproductivity of such speculations, though, I came back to immediate reality.

They'd exit any second now. Then I'd stop waiting and reflecting and start watching with magicka pressed into my eyes. When they were all in the ship I'd dash out into the opened, get into the water, latch onto the vessel, and begin a ride that would last days.

I heard the door opening: this was real now.

I pushed magicka into my eyes, clearing my mind of any other thoughts, letting the world loosen until it was substanceless. Colored, moving blobs began to emerge through the tree: four, the same amount of Sload which had exited the vessel, all going through the mudroom.

Soon would be the crucial beginning to this mission. My muscles tightened. The assignment was about to begin. My hearing got more acute as adrenaline began to release.

The first one was turning right, turning in the direction of the docks sooner rather than later.

They were slow, the second only just getting through the door.

Still, a point of nearly no return was close. I disengaged Detect Life mode. My breaths were shallow.

To drop the mission was still possible: decide it wasn't worth the risk and forfeit, forced to deal with Sudeeda disgruntled and need to wait another two months. An increased risk of the Sload letting loose the disease would also come, which was far bigger than **Takes-initiative's** anger. The horrible, unnerving burden of the world on my shoulders strained me. I had to go through with this.

Yet survival was crucial too. If I died, they'd have to send one of their own (a non-deniable asset), or Densius (someone untrained in stealth). The thought of my own preservation being important brought a small spurt of euphoria.

But that epiphany brought deadlock. It was a decision I'd have to make, stressingly, in this tiny window of opportunity. My thoughts rushed like an angry hive, and I hated it.

Then the entrance door closed.

With the two Sload in front of the group likely already out of range of my Detect Life abilities, yet all of them with their back to me, it was time to observe them directly.

I got back up with some strain on my arms and legs, courtesy of the back-pack. I side-stepped to get behind a bush. Through a micro-tunnel of leaves, I viewed their movement. The one in front was arriving on the docks, turning in the direction of the lake. However, it was more important to observe when they entered the vehicle itself, so I reangled until I could see that stilted box.

The one-minute window I'd essentially spent all night thinking about was close.

In the back of my mind thoughts of abortion still danced around. Abandoning a plan thought-up in a single night, would that be so wrong?

But quitting would require no preparations, where as carrying out the mission required I carefully monitor the Sload's progress. I committed to the latter to make sure both options were available.

The front one already heading down the docks, his immediate follower was about the round the corner. Soon they would be all onboard.

My body and what was attached to it, how each part of or on me would play its role if I were to run, took increased prevalence in my consciousness.

What would any Argonian think if he saw a girl with a rope around her arm and goggles on her face running towards the vessel at top speed? Maybe he'd figure the Slug-men had forgotten something and she was frantic with her duty to be a good host. But if he warned them out of suspicion, this whole assignment could collapse on top of me. It was another intimidating prospect in this volatile future. The world would be grievously risked by such a shouter. Indeed, it seemed to be in the hands of luck now, tightly held.

Should I use the Shadow power? Then I'd be nearly helpless if I needed to hide in ocean. Also, using the power would require proceeding slowly towards the ship to keep the energy on, and that vehicle would start moving back down the river only a minute after all the Sload entered.

A funny, light, cold, and almost tingly feeling was running through my veins. My breaths were shallow at the commitment that was closing in. But it still wasn't clear exactly what I'd commit to.

The Sload at the front of their line was quite close to the vessel.

He splashed into the water beside the ship, and then swam with an incongruous speed into the hatch. It made for a very odd sight.

Very soon I would have to run into the lake or forfeit the mission. It was a curse to need to make this decision now! I was presented with two long, drastically different paths, but no idea how to decide which was better.

Fear was building up. Should I abort the mission? I may be able to make a better plan, but how?

No way came to mind.

But with two months to think, maybe that would change.

Yet how likely was it that would change?

Knowing the demons faced here and now brought ache and a shaky feeling inside. I'd probably be going from this long-dwelled hiding spot to rushing towards the Sloadic machine to attach myself before launch. If I declined, an intimidating assignment would be replaced with guilt and anger from a superior to whom I was but a useful enemy.

My mind rushed for some kind of calculation to determine which was better. Still, it was hard to imagine one little philosophical tid-bit making me put off an opportunity I couldn't take advantage of for another two months.

Regardless, I was just grasping at emptiness in my mind.

I might as well do what I was ordered, relying on someone else's brain. _Another mind. _That was the bit of thought that put the option of grappling onto the ship above "chickening out."

Installing a shaky barrier against impulsive thoughts to the contrary, there was a bit of relief in having the decision over.

But...

But nothing! Relying on someone else's mind was the sealing logic.

Back to the impending operation's preparation: Once they got in, I'd dash and have to hope no one saw. Success was mostly a matter of fortune.

Only two Sload were left on the surface.

This impending fateful gauntlet of chance made my muscles tightened. Soon I'd burst out of this hiding place and hope no one would alert the Sload; then I could splash into the water with those monsters none-the-wiser. My legs took prominence in my mind as I was ready to launch myself from the ground.

My Shadow power, though: should I use it? It could be too late to think over, it might just be an arbitrary decision made upon leaving this spot. But until I left this spot, thinking it over was a duty; Damnit!

The final Sload was close to the vessel. He would cross that line soon, its significance something he was oblivious to: it would be my cue to burst out.

He dropped down too, but seemed to have dived below the surface. The near-bursting tension drained.

I waited to see if his slimy form would emerge to slither back into the hatch. But he must have been undoing the rope, in the process of providing the opening for the grapple.

That allowed time to think: Should I use the Shadow power? It would make sure I got to the ship safely, but it would take longer to arrive there.

The 'Slug-man' emerged and went into the hatch.

The empty area ahead meant it was time to come out, time to commit and run and hope.

My legs went numb.

Then, with courage, I pushed them.

I came out, declining the Shadow power somehow. I sprinted, animal-like focus on the objective and the eyes that might be on me. The noise of my foot-falls changed briefly to clacking against wood before again pounding soft ground. In their windowless ship the Sload were dumbly unaware, but I felt the potential gazes of fellow Argonians all over my scales. It was a struggle the Sload were oblivious they were subjecting anyone to. I was getting closer and closer and closer, but every second was hosting an opportunity for a yell. Yet still only the crashes of my feet against the ground occupied the air.

Near was the water, where I'd be concealed from everyone and see the loop for my hook.

Sweet, protective, water. Thrill began to grow. Safety was so close. The thrill grew sharper. I felt about ready to explode. Soon the lake would incase my body.

My feet smashed against the liquid. I fluently dived into swim-mode, propelling forwards and downwards.

Surrounded by the lovely lake that concealed me from those on land, I loosened.

Ahead was the focus of this whole stage. Unfortunately, the loop looked too close to the bottom of the lake for me to ride _below_ the vessel. It would be necessary to ride on the side.

Getting close, I hooked the grapple through the circle.

Mission accomplished. Relief. The trials were conquered, luck granting its graces. I let out a long, hard sigh through my nostrils, manifested by a big string of bubbles. It wouldn't be smooth sailing from here, but one obstacle had been dealt-with and I could relax for now.

I then started uncoiling the rope from my right arm.

As I unwound it, the pull this ride could put on my right shoulder or push it could put on my elbow came to mind. I could untie the rope and simply hold it with both hands, but that would require constant attention. I'd either have to hold the rope with the other hand for the hours of riding between meals, or likely experience some arm pain. The former seemed preferable. Continuing to uncoil, there were some guttural machine sounds coming from the preparing vehicle.

My feet had kicked the bottom of the lake. The drift closer to the surface had happened during the unwinding. I paddled forwards to get close again, making for a loose and loopy rope, and then continued, this time making sure not to extend myself from the vehicle.

Now there was little more of the rope still wrapped around my arm.

Still undercover, I was about to ride to Thras itself, an assignment mind-blowingly different from anything I'd ever expected to face. I was soon to be completely prepared. A plan both goofy and morbidly genius appeared to working out. Just a few more loops to undo...

Done. Preparation for the ship to lurch away was now complete. It was again time to just wait.

Maybe I would have had time to use the Shadow power, but that didn't matter now.

The Sload were still lazily preparing to go back home, perhaps to plan the release of the plague.

But this queer little place would be the medium for decision about the Empire; remembering that, this no longer felt like a victory.

Yet before the evidence could be brought back to either faction, this very same vehicle would need to be hijacked. That would be an even bigger challenge, figuring out how to control this machine. It clearly wasn't a simple invention if it took this long to start up. I feared what could happen if I pressed some wrong buttons, receiving a wisp of the sucking void in my chest I would feel if I were to lose control in the face of impending collision.

Then I heard sort of a mechanical moan coming from the front of the ship. The surface of the lower-anterior seemed to be moving. Maybe it was some kind of window opening? It did seem odd to imagine a Captain with no way to see out. To make sure I'd be out of his view I climbed the rope until I was hugging the side, intimately acquainted with the bright-orange, stone-like, wavy material that made this vessel. I'd have to ride like this all the way through the river that connected Helstrom to the ocean; that was another disheartening stressor. The movement continued across the front of the ship.

Then it stopped.

If that window was opened, it must mean they would start moving soon. Before long would come the mysterious experience that would encase the next three days.

Grumblings came from the vehicle.

Attached and paddling, I was ready for the ship to move, beginning this ludicrous assignment.

There was a relatively sharp noise near the back.

Pulled towards the front of the ship, my heart skipped a beat; the ship had started to move backwards.

But it didn't reveal me to the captain. The tension could dissipate, but I still felt shaken and vulnerable.

The speed was growing.

The grapple hook dug hard into the metal loop.

Something pressed me harder to the ship's side; The vessel was beginning to turn. It was a bizarre sensation, being bullied by these forces like nature's flailing attempt to punish this Shadowscale for using such an unnatural place.

Then when the ship had turned sufficiently, I was thrust to the back, legs swinging towards the rotating blade before I curled them.

Another unpleasant scare.

But then I realized my feet couldn't have reached the blade if they didn't reach the window. It'd been unnerving to get thrown around like this, but it was now clear I was safe no matter what direction they moved.

The water was forceful against my face and over my scales as the ship sped through the lake. The constant batting of the lake-water was uncomfortable, but at least I wouldn't face any new scares until they stopped for lunch, if even then. Still, this beginning showed no reason to be comforted about the next three days of brutal repression and raw vulnerability. I was already counting down how soon it would be over.

Below there was now much more water, enough room for descent below the vehicle.

Worrying about the rope getting chopped up by the back blade as I extended myself from the tight hold, I did so carefully. The forces accompanied me well, however. This was what most of the time in the ocean would be like.

It was a bit of relaxation granted, but only a bit. The water would get shallower once the vehicle reached the river; I'd have to hug the side again. Nonetheless, once we were out of Argonia, this position would the substance of most of the next half-week.

Then came the mysterious Isles of Thras, where few had ventured and far fewer returned from. It was the homeland of a totally different way of life. It was a nation where every inhabitant would recognize me instantly as an intruder, and I had only a vague idea of the invisible powers their knowledge of magic granted them.


	36. Dreading Part Two

A/N: Alright. I was originally going to release three chapters at once because the third seemed significantly more epic, but ultimately I decided otherwise. Eitherway, I don't think I'm scrapping the idea of releasing chapters in batches.

Also, I tried a slightly different stylistic approach with this one. Tell me if it reads any better or worse than my recent few.

And yes, there was no chapter entitled "Dreading Part One" that I forgot to release. Hopefully you'll figure out why I named this chapter what I did once you finish.

* * *

"Collected from the Notes of Bendu Olo, West King of Anvil and Baron-Admiral of the All Flags Navy, and Dealer of Swift Justice to the Foul Spot of Thras.

Life Cycle:

Juvenile: Disgusting little amorphous grubs.

Adolescent: Soft, squishy octopuslike things that cannot emerge on land.

Adult: No outside limit to age or size. Individuals seen on land in Tamriel tend to be older, corpulent adults; the trait of greed is common in these individuals, and they excel as merchants and smuggling entrepreneurs. Younger adults lack essential surface survival skills, and are rarely seen on land. Older adults collapse under their own weight unless buoyed by water." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition

Sun's Dusk 14, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Padomiac Ocean

* * *

I'd already detached myself from the rope, flipped my backpack to my anterior, unzipped it, and opened the water-proof container eat lunch.

Feeling confident to eat at a relatively slow speed, I took another bite of the sandwich. It was the first meal eaten somewhat comfortably since leaving Argonia: I still wasn't at ease but was more comfortable than during the last three meals, which I'd wolfed down or skipped outright due to fear of the ship driving away while I was detached. But now their behavioral patterns were sufficiently clear; not only did they take awhile eating, but they'd also only leave the ship after a meal, if at all.

All this time away from the rope was precious.

It would probably feel even better to get some sleep: last night I hadn't allowed myself such a luxury, too afraid to dose off so close to the enemy, but now that worry had largely faded.

The plan was sounder than I thought. My doubts had been silly, just another manifestation of a mental problem I'd had ever since taking out the Black Hand.

I stuffed the remainder of crust in my mouth.

Fingers now free, I flexed them. They were quite cramped after holding onto the rope for so long.

After a few more flexes, I closed the water-proofer container back up, and zipped the back-pack up again and flung it back around one-hundred-eighty degrees.

I stretched my fingers some more, spreading them like rays of sunshine in a child's painting.

It seemed like I'd already mastered riding with the vessel: that was stage one of this mission.

However, the ominous mysteries of Thras waited. The books I'd read had given little tactical help, so I was largely on my own in one of the most feared regions in Tamriel. It would be a surreal mission working in a coral kingdom designed by amphibious slugs who were magically advanced beyond Tamrielic understanding. Knowing so little about what waited there, I'd largely be flailing through the assignment, trying to live moment by moment with only the most basic, common-sense knowledge to use tactically, deadly powers at every corner.

With those thoughts, mastering the first stage of this mission didn't seem so satisfying anymore.

* * *

(Densius Fidelis): Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

Sitting alone and human, I was a sore thumb. The loneliness was a reminder of Cicero and Zaheen's deaths. Worse yet, this was how the next week and half would be.

I ate slowly because the palace food was one of the few highlights of my 'free' time here. After swallowing more of the marinated vegetables, I took another sip of wine. Although I'd looked forward to this time off, today had offered mostly boredom. The riches of the palace seemed to mean much less than I expected, especially given that I was surrounded by people who didn't speak Cyrodiillic and were agents of an enemy of the Empire. I felt imprisoned and low-spirited now. The Legion had taught me to rely on the comradery of alliance to keep away ennui, but this place didn't offer that.

Soch-Eena, on the other hand, must have been having quite an 'adventure' speeding through the ocean. Despite the unexpected boredom, I did pity her.

Ironically, she'd be seeing Cyrodiil before this Imperial. That country now seemed so distant; it was so odd to imagine the shining white stone of the Imperial City, and clear vistas that would let one see greenery from miles, and the mountains that towered over the horizon.

Yet what would I do once back in Cyrodiil? I'd found myself so bored in the present, practically crawling up the walls, even with all the wealth in the palace. How could the ten-thousand septim reward cure me? My friends had been my life's muses, after all.

Maybe I'd be lucky enough to have some role in Black Marsh once it was opened, to be in the excitement of progress first hand, adding one more prosperous land to Tamriel and changing what people saw as absolutes. That wouldn't be boring at all.

But before it was opened, the cure would have to be analyzed and replicated and, alas, that would surely take a long time.

With only a few forkfuls left, I wondered what I would do once finished:

I could go back to the library, that was where I was spending most of my time. Yet even though I might find a book to fall in love with there, another ten hours of the day relying on text hardly sounded appealing. Besides, doing _anything_ felt like a heavy task right now.

Probably the only thing that kept this time bearable was the ability to fantasize about the mission coming to an end and Black Marsh being opened after its hundreds of years of isolation. The image of the tribals soon taking part in the glories of technology and becoming another economic factor in the civilized world was beautiful one. Yet even those fantasies were becoming more impotent as the immediate needs of keeping myself amused moved to the forefront. Yet I predicted that would have to reverse eventually: once it was almost time for the invasion.

Swallowing the final forkful, I got up and turned around, now accustomed to the servants cleaning up after everyone.

Ahead there was a man in robes leaning on the far wall who seemed to be eyeing me firmly.

How long had he been doing that? It wasn't pleasant being stared at by one's enemy.

Half out of unease, and half showing him how uncommunicative that stare was, I stared back.

He continued.

After the awkward eye-lock, he beckoned. What awaited? Although it surely would end the boredom, would I regret what was wished for?

I began walking towards him, but shifted my eyes to the crowded rightward briefly. Then I looked back at him. He was still staring, seemingly disregarding my comfort.

Was I in some sort of trouble? I shifted my gaze to the floor and started to tense up a little. Did they somehow know about the map? My stomach started to ache. My stomach started to ache. Had they seen this suspicious 'adventurer' give it to Soch-Eena?

I was very close to him, and was suddenly getting the feeling I didn't have to worry.

He spoke "Densius Fidelis," a voice deep and lethargic but less obviously accented than most of the Cyrodiillic speakers here. "You need to come to the medical room for questions and tests regarding the effects of the Hist sap on your body."

I loosened, a new found happiness seeping into the situation. So this was how Sudeeda was making her captive earn his keep! It even sounded mildly entertaining.

He broke the silence again, "Follow me."

The robed Argonian passed through the opened double doors and I followed, the chatter and clashing silverware fading to the quite of the hall.

He'd said he would ask questions...

Would it be a good idea to lie to throw them off course? Otherwise, I'd be assisting their research.

But what if they gave me medical treatment based on the answers; then lieing could easily lead to gruesome consequences. My spirits were starting to sink into an ominous murk.

Now I wished boredom was my biggest problem.

As we were about the round the corner, I loathed that this dramatic and potentially fateful decision was condensed into such a small space.

I forced myself to think about it at hyper-speed: the devastation of losing their trust seemed greater than that of giving them some low-level knowledge, so it would be better to tell the truth.

But that felt like a shamefully feeble conclusion. This decision was too broad for a Lance Corporal!

We turned a corner on the right.

Was I really that important now? Soch-Eena was the one with proof. It seemed likely my own safety was an appropriate sacrifice to keep them away from knowledge.

Yet if I was caught on a blatant lie they wouldn't believe any of the answers and then they couldn't be set off course. Yes, maybe I should fall into the grace of compliance.

But I _could_ bar them from knowledge by simply not telling the truth. That sinking feeling returned.

My mind buzzed to counter the dreadful thought. My heart was beginning to pound, seeing a war-esque situation in the middle of a seemingly innocuous procedure.

Would barring them from knowledge and possibly setting them off-course with their research into Hist-Sap body modification be worth risking my life for? A military operation to keep the enemy from commonplace knowledge on Hist sap did sound disturbingly plausible. I might indeed meet death before victory, solemn as that was, and never really see the fruits of this expedition. That dramatic thought deeply enveloped my mind.

We turned another corner.

Yet they knew I was not a simple traveler, so there must have been some reason they thought I would give them the truth.

Maybe they believed I was too afraid of the consequences. If that was the case then, unfortunately for both of us, they'd under-estimated my resolve.

Maybe it would be the solemn duty of this soldier to lie to them. With luck, though, they wouldn't realize it.

But their doom would be coming in...about two weeks. Would they really have time to apply the answers I gave them? Maybe my safety was worth it.

Yet how could one weigh the survival of a single person against the knowledge of a whole harmful institution?

Tightening in anticipation, I sought to find an objective answer by taking myself out of the equation and running an otherwise identical scenario by my intuition: Would I kill an innocent person to prevent the kind of knowledge I was about to give them from getting into their hands?

...

No.

The worry floated away and I felt like laughing! I was granted another day. Perhaps I would indeed see the glory of the Empire spreading. In my head I danced and sang with joy.

We entered the medical room.

Right in front of us were some couches, probably for waiting, but they were empty. The room was full of corners and contained at least three doors in a sort of mini-hall. The "room", as it was called, was more like section. I followed him ahead and slightly to the right, still not sure where he was heading.

Glancing to the left I saw a fourth door, and turning further to the left revealed a table with a white sheet and something akin to a shaving razor (only narrower) on it: a crass combination. There was also a pot of ink and a quill there.

I returned my gaze to the Argonian.

The mage seemed to be focused on some cabinets. I began pondering what the tests might be: prodding my scales with a cue-tip to check their sensitivity? Making me squeeze something to test the strength of my scaly hand?

He stopped in front of the cabinets and began fishing through a pocket of his. The Argonian took out a key. He opened a cabinet, revealing many labeled bottles and sacks. The man unfastened one of the sacks, picked out a seed from it, and extended that seed to be on his palm.

Was it a drug? Black Marsh was known for its drugs.

I took it.

"Eat that seed and you won't feel pain during the tests. You'll know it's working when you feel dizzy."

They were kind enough to provide painkillers; that was nice. That made me feel a little less confrontational and a little less excited about the impending invasion, unfortunately.

I popped it in my mouth and started chewing. It tasted a mildly unpleasant sweet, almost nutty. Would it provide an emotional pleasure too? I'd seen pain-killers in the Legion and all sorts of confiscated drugs from criminals, but didn't recognize this seed. Might this one have strictly grown in the inner swamps? If that was the case, this was a first-hand experience with a new substance the Empire would soon have to decide how to deal with.

I swallowed. The robed healer, expressionless, started walking opposite the way I was facing. I turned and followed, what was stuck in my gums and teeth getting removed with my tongue.

He squirmed between two couches, as did I. There was another row of cabinets on the wall to the left, but he didn't seem to be going for those.

It seemed he was heading for the table. Given the razor, white sheet, and drug, I could gather these tests were fairly serious.

He took the chair to left, leaving his test subject the chair to the right.

As I pulled out that chair to sit down, I noticed he was holding a piece of paper. He put it down on the table

What would it feel like when the drugs started to kick in?

He began with a long exhale and spoke dryly. "I understand you've been growing scales on your left hand," he said monotonely "Please tell me when this process started."

When had it started? I counted back to that day...yesterday I'd been free. The day before that, Soch-Eena and I had seen the cure. For three days before that, I was hunting for the Argonian Royal Court.

So brought me five days back? Yes.

Before then I was on the mission to deliver the Dwemer equipment for three days. That brought me back eight days.

We'd been sent to get spores the day before that. Then the day earlier was when we'd been captured by the Argonian Royal Court. Ten days.

The day prior to that had been spent with the tribe who saw us as somehow "blessed", and the day before that was journeying there. Twelve days.

And it was the evening before we began that journey that I went through Hist-sap ritual.

Thirteen days.

Or that was approximately it. An exact number probably didn't matter.

"Thirteen days ago." I said, albeit conscious of the long delay. He moved to pick up the quill.

He began scribbling.

Maybe the research they conducted with this information could be of use to the Empire when our troops came.

He began his sentence with a sigh "Let me see your hand."

I extended it palm-up.

He grabbed it and examined it coldly. The scales had already claimed quite a lot of hand, extending up to the joint over the knuckle lines. It was still a bizarre sight, scales and skin mixing. He flipped it over. The scales were hugging the edges of other side too and even covering my knuckles and the base of my thumb. His face was stern. Then he let go and scribbled some more down.

How precious was this info to them? Was this just a filler activity, a piece of a Sudeeda-Atuiz power-trip, or was what had happened to me really that important to their research?

Then he read from the paper again, "Have you noticed any other Argonian traits besides the two we are already aware you posses?"

I thought, scanning the time since the scales had emerged. Nothing stood out, although no one could prove a negative. Either way, it didn't seem right to scrutinize over answers for the enemy.

"No."

I started to wonder what tests they planned to do when the drug kicked in. That razor probably had something to do with it. Were they going to shave off some scales and see if they'd grow back? That sounded pretty serious, not like something that would happen on the first day of experiments.

"Do you have scales anywhere else on your body?"

Did I have scales anywhere else?

"No."

It seemed slightly odd they were trusting a highly-probable spy on these answers. It didn't seem above them, or 'above' any government, to just strip me naked and check for themselves. Despite that, now more than ever, they had reason to believe I was a mole, they were trusting. I felt a little uneasy thinking about it.

"Have you had any strange sensations since the incident that do not visibly manifest on your body?"

I thought again, zooming through those thirteen days. But no other anamolies had accompanied the scales besides the immunities.

"No."

'No,' seemed to be the pattern here. Some faint intuition told me that was a good thing, that it meant I was helping them less, but whether that intuition was supported by logic didn't matter; I'd already pledged to comply.

"Is there pain around the immediate area of your scales?"

There was a minor ache at that moment, but that was probably the power of suggestion. I couldn't remember feeling that before.

"No," I replied, true to the pattern. That question seemed a little ominous, though. Would there be?

"Was there any evidence of those involved with dipping your hand in Hist sap extruding any further magical influence into the area?"

I replayed the moment mentally. There were no bright lights.

"Nope."

My head was starting to swim; the seed was kicking in. I felt slightly thrilled and giggly at taking a drug.

"Alright," he sighed, "was the cup holding the Hist sap made of wood?"

I thought back to the incident. The cup was indeed.

"Yes."

"Oh!" His brow perked up as he wrote down the answers which seemed to give him a bit of energy. What significance was that? What had I just done for our future war-effort here? Would what I said help them kill our soldiers when they came?

I became more uncomfortable and extra conscious of the power of my words. It was the first time he'd seemed to have enthusiasm; that couldn't be a good sign.

Then he said with a voice fresher and lighter, "Has any part of your body gone numb since the incident?"

The answer was no, I knew immediately, but I was reconsidering being truthful.

"Uhhh," Honesty was a decision that needed to be made quickly. But I hadn't realized anything that would change the reason I was telling the truth in the first place. "No," I replied, feeling the word slither through the air with a bit of apprehension.

He sighed; his demeanor seemed to be dulling again. Good. The previous question had been a freak.

There was the oddest urge to turn tilt my head side to side, no doubt an effect of the drug.

He finished writing. "Okay," he whispered to himself.

Then he rotated his wrist to check the time. "The drug should kick in fully in two minutes, then we can begin," he said in a normal voice.

He kicked back in his chair, pressed the tips of his finger-tips toghether, and looked at the ceiling above me. I looked down.

I got back to thinking about what that answer which caused him to perk up had provided. Why would the cup being wood matter? Pressing myself to think provided no enlightenment, though.

Yet I already made the decision to tell the truth before seeing how he'd react to _any_ of the questions. There was no reason to go back on that choice.

I tried to think about something else:

Where would Soch-Eena be right now? It was about a third of the way through her journey so, imagining a map of Tamriel, it seemed she'd be just out of Black Marsh by now. She was stuck with the weirdest assignment I'd ever heard, attaching herself to a ship to ride across the ocean. She was exiting Black Marsh for her mission, which was also a surreal prospect.

But despite my imprisonment in the center of this province, I had it much easier than her. I just had to take drugs, sit, and answer questions, while she was forced to go to one of the deadliest and most mysterious places in Tamriel

Dreadfully, with a mission so dangerous, it was a serious possibility she would fail. It would take weeks to know such a thing had happened, too, which made it worse.

The proof getting to the Empire was all in her hands now. For all I knew, she might be floating face-down in the middle of the ocean with our precious map, our key to success and my key to escape, lost in the endless water. It was chilling to think of that being taken away, after all the luck I had in getting it to begin with and all the worry I went through about keeping it concealed. When our troops didn't show up far past a reasonable deadline it would be clear I'd be stuck to die here, spirits crushed, knowing our mission had failed. The thought of all the time, risks, and grueling anticipation invested in seeing this assignment work, all for it come crashing down at no fault of my own, was a sticky one.

But if she died, the mission wasn't necessarily over; it would just become nearly impossible. I could still try to get new proof and break into the area with the cure then go back to Cyrodiil myself. But even if the first two were accomplished, which seemed absurd, the third would be brutally difficult with all the human-hostile tribes in the central swamps.

Yet I tried to shake those thoughts; it would be weeks before those tasks could possibly matter.

The room felt a little like it had tilted sideways.

What kind of tests might they be doing? I did remember mentioning to Sudeeda I'd scraped my hands before they were dipped in Hist sap. Did this have something to do with that?

Oh well, it didn't matter what they would do. I'd pledged to comply, so it was pointless worrying about the details.

What did matter was what I'd do after the tests were over. Hopefully the drug would last a few hours; it would mean that much less time to figure out how to be happy.

Maybe tests like this would come daily. That would remove a significant chunk of the coming days from ennui's stare. It might even help a little with the loneliness.

Then again, to abate the loneliness I'd have to get somewhat attached to the people here. I wouldn't want those feelings when the invasion came. I already felt a tiny stab of guilt thinking of betraying them like that, seeing them all get killed or go to prison likely for life.

I tried to dissolve that thought too, however. Instead I tried to focus on what would happen when the palace got into Cyrodiillic hands:

The Empire would take control of the Hist sap research project. What had the Argonians discovered so far and what were they planning? Super-soldiers, no doubt, but how could they use nature to their advantage like that? I thought back to the leaping and thick-taloned tribals seen attacking me or my hosts near the beginning of my time here. Did they have anything in mind beyond those modifications? What other creatures could be exploited? Could they give humans animal-quality senses? In the right hands, the hands of the Empire, it was an exciting prospect. Would we make some trans-human fighters that could provide the advantages needed to win in Elsweyr and Morrowind? Would there be ethical turmoil regarding that? Would there be a biological revolution when the methods went public?

I knew one could neither feel nor envision the prospects appropriately with this drug in the blood-stream, though; It seemed to create a sort of serenity: a monotone, though not unpleasant, mindscape.

_Whatever._ That was what the drug told me. For now I was just trapped in this small piece of Black Marsh, waiting on my former arrest to finish the hard-work.

When the invasion force did come within visual range of the palace occupants, would the Argonian Royal Court start attacking me? Perhaps, and that could be a tough fight, given I would be alone in the headquarters of this faction. It was tracely unpleasant to think about even with the drug.

The world seemed to be tilting sideways with all its mite. The feeling took me back to childhood, when spinning around was somewhat like our version of a party-drug. I remembered a question some kid I'd known had proposed: _"When you spin around in one direction for a long time, and then spin around in the other direction, do you get undizzy?"_ His voice was indistinct and disembodied. Who'd said that? My cousin? Some local kid? Piner Sialius? Maybe I'd try that when the seed wore off; it would stave off boredom a little longer.

The robed man looked down at his watch again. Maybe now the surgery was coming.

"The drug should have kicked in," he said dully. "Put your hand palm-down in front of me."

I complied, putting it on the table. It rested perfectly still. I'd originally pictured only soft things happening here, but now it looked like the tests would be more repercussive and serious. Oh well, it would help pass the time.

He picked up the razor and put it right under scales on my pinky knuckle. He started moving it down but caused no sensation. He went down almost to my arm, peeling off the first layer of skin to reveal a pinker under-layer.

I was content, even while getting skinned alive and the world seemed to be spinning on a spit.

Then he retracted the razor, looked at it sternly, clicked something, and started moving it back to my hand again. He was probably now going for a deeper skinning. He moved it to the area below my middle finger. The Argonian again casually dragged it down. This time I felt a little pressure. The skinning revealed a darker under layer that soon began to draw blood. He stopped above the base of my thumb.

He dropped the instrument: watching myself get skinned alive was amusing while it lasted, though the blood was somewhat worrisome.

He casually placed his finger right below the cuticle of my pinky like he intended to use some magic.

There was a subtle orange glow on his finger as he moved it armward. I felt the heat, though it didn't cross the threshold of discomfort. It seemed like nothing was happening until my flesh behind his finger was turning leathery and pink. He stopped at the scales. My hand now showcased a gruesome little museum; Neat.

Then he moved his appendage down to roughly the same area on my index finger. This time a visible, candle-sized flame was on the tip of his digit as he droningly moved it. I could feel intense heat, but only mild discomfort. The skin was peeling away and charring slightly to reveal a darker red. That was the sort of injury I'd be significantly ashamed to be seen with in the halls.

The flame went out a little before hitting the scales, though it turned the flesh adjacent to them pink.

He moved his finger to my thumb. What would his next addition to the gore-salad be?

Again he started right below the cuticle. But this time his digit glowed a bright-white with a slight blue tint. As he dragged it down, I watched for an effect, but it only pinkened my flesh like a mild burn.

Once he got close to the scales, he kept going. He stopped only a little way in. Looking at his face, the venture into scale-territory it didn't seemed to be an accident, though.

He withdrew his hand. It looked like that was it. No doubt that hand would be a hard-hitting, morbid attention getter outside without proper concealment.

The wizard pushed himself up from the table. I kept my hand still, given its state, but turned my head to follow him.

He seemed to be strolling towards the closer cabinets.

Once in front of them, he opened one. Then he stretched and reached up high for something. His sleeve fell as he did, revealing a bracelet.

_My_ bracelet.

They'd manipulated me for those answers.

He removed a potion with an Argonian label. His sleeve sunk back over the reality-ripping bracelet and he started walking towards the table once more. He looked unaware of what he'd shown me.

My soul was sinking and dreadful thoughts started flooding in. Would my conclusion about being honest have been the same if not for the spell effect? Once I got out of range it would be a duty to think that question over again and possibly conclude it _was_ right risk myself so close to victory. I hated his incompetence of letting his sleeve fall! My thoughts rushed over the issue as fast as they could in the drug-addled state.

Was there anything I could to do reverse the help?

He plopped down, oblivious to the storm he'd created in my mind. His clumsiness had ripped away the feelings of moral-security in participating in this activity. My world had shifted.

He uncorked the bottle.

My hand was still statue-stiff as he moved the bottle towards my fingers, but my mind wasn't. Should I pull my hand away to interrupt this experiment?

He poured the thin stream of liquid across the lighter burn. Healing potion; he was going to pour it on each wound so they'd heal very-many-fold sooner. No, I wouldn't pull it away yet.

But as he poured I thought how I hated myself for turning my head to watch him. Now it was necessary to confront the dilemma of honesty again in case of future tests, and that meant possibly confronting a soul-crushing answer. Damn illusion magic! I was already getting a slight sick feeling, fearing confronting the idea that I should endanger myself to hinder their research after it seemed inevitable the risks for me were over!

Then he tilted the bottle back upwards, finished.

"Your wounds should be healed completely in an hour. Come back here so we can examine the results." He said dryly. Those words were the subject of the incoming dilemma. It would be a long and anguishing hour in bedroom forty.

He pushed himself up. I pulled myself a bit out of the murky thoughts to do the same, but as I did I was only half in reality. To the extent the drug allowed me, I dreaded reconfronting the dilemma, the answer to which would apply in only an hour.

I realized why I'd felt somewhat guilty at the thought of invasion: the bracelet had made me sympathetic. With that epiphany such feelings disappeared. Now I felt feisty and confrontationalist.

Given how they'd biased me with the charm, the dilemma of cooperation hadn't been truly conquered. Now, as anger was starting to grow in me, I felt a bit less apprehensive about non-compliance. I'd have to face the dilemma again and perhaps the truth would be the bitter necessitation of life-risking, but my anger could provide a tea-spoon of sugar to that bitter medicine.


	37. Whether to Show

"'It's a surprisingly useful School,' whispered Massitha defensively. 'You see, it's all concerned with magicka's ability to alter the perception of objects without changing their physical compositions.'" –Incident in Necrom

Sun's Dusk 14, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis):Room Forty, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

Only a few minutes before the appointment in the medical room, it seemed I was starting to arrive at an answer: to stick with the mundane flow and comply, not have this day be radical and explosive. It seemed the thoughts of doing otherwise had just been a pointless scare instigated by the knowledge of the bracelet. The chance they'd apply the knowledge I'd give them was slim, since it would only be about two weeks until the invasion. Their mysterious visitor was doing what they wanted, but they didn't know what was coming.

Yet even if the probability they'd apply the knowledge was slim, the fruition would have grievous consequences: more of our soldiers getting killed.

Still, even if the information was applied, it couldn't turn their guards into Gods. Maybe it would double our casualties. I tried to envision the battle:

Likely only about twenty would be necessary to deal with the palace. Maybe four or five of our soldiers would die under normal circumstances. So the knowledge, if it was applied, would lead to an additional four or five deaths.

But it seemed highly unlikely the knowledge would be applied.

So yes, the probability of compliance causing a problem was a sliver, shrinking the significance of its possible fruition to a smaller size than the consequence of non-compliance, my own death, which was essentially inevitable if I went passive-aggressive.

My thoughts went silent briefly, but doubts still danced like ghosts in the back of my mind.

Was I the Argonian Royal Court's only test subject? They'd had me bringing them dead animals earlier, implying they'd begun experiments a while before this. What kind of things were happening in their laboratory basement? Were they experimenting on other, non-voluntary people down there?

Were these tests more of a way to keep me from being a parasite, or were they really precious? It was a question I'd had before.

Did being human give me some importance? My mind started buzzing as the thought slithered into me.

But there wouldn't be any humans involved in their applications, so why would it? I needed to relax. The test was probably a minor, mundane incident, just another day in the palace.

I looked back at the clock:

It was 1:58.

With the limited time they'd have to apply what they discovered, it seemed a life wasn't an appropriate sacrifice. But after that dilemma, I needed to let my bubbling mind and body calm down. The conclusions made it clear the bracelet was just an unnecessary 'failsafe' for them.

Hopefully that enchanted article wasn't needed to keep Soch-Eena in check either; To think of her betraying our mission now was unnerving. But she'd maintained her loyalty even when we were separated. It was logical to assume she would remain this way as long as she didn't know about the magical trinket, even if her genuine self was disloyal.

But I would have to be weary for the effects of the bracelet in the future. That would bring a new kind of tension to coarsen and add seriousness to the time in the palace, a tension around every corner from a danger no Legion soldier was used to dealing with.

Had Sudeeda been using the bracelet during every briefing she gave us?

But that didn't matter at the moment.

How I wished to have never seen that man's sleeve fall! I somewhat envied Soch-Eena now. Seeing the bracelet had sent my mood spiraling down, and put an unpleasant rawness and gravity in the last hour.

I looked at the clock once more for how soon I would present the results.

Only thirty seconds had passed.

I looked at the wounds again:

The healed areas all bore roughly the same pattern. The scales emerged from their source onto the healing area in the shape of a spear-head, a triangle which was slightly bigger on the deeper wounds, even more so on the deepest skinning.

Other than that, they were surrounded by new skin. The flesh of the deeper skinning was discolored, paler than its surrounding, and the flesh around the deeper burn was doughy looking. This cursed marsh had given me even more scars, and I was bitter about it.

Disturbingly, it looked like it didn't take a healer to gather some data on how to spread a transformation, in my case the scales, faster. That was probably their intent with the experiment. Would the status of my hand really provide useful information, useful enough to risk my life to deny them?

But staying compliant would keep their guard down. Yes, this worrying needed to stop. It was eroding my mental health.

Since staying here would mean lingering internal demons, it seemed a good idea to get up and head to the medical area right now.

The mattress groaned as I got off it. I began heading to the door. I opened it.

The halls were quiet on this floor, as no longer was anyone rushing to lunch. Everyone was either back at their workstations or relaxing. Their minds weren't stormy, like mine.

But the dilemma was over, I had to remember that. It was time to think about something else.

Judging by the scars on my hand and mouth, I'd become ugly through this. That was disheartening.

But the name "Densius Fidelis" would go down in history books. Surely it would open up worlds of new importance to my life, and that would be dreamy. My life would be forever bathed in glory, which was a prize of greater absolute value than any punishment I'd yet been given. But things would drastically change and the scar on my face might be enough to destroy my sex-life. That mark still jarred even me. It was funny how simple placement could make it go from a dashing battle-wound to a grotesque deformity. I wouldn't have minded a subtle slash down the cheek

I looked back at my hand. That burn scar was hideous as well, even though it could be worse. The scales "covering" it looked a misshapen too. Would they do any more to this poor body?

These last two weeks had brought changes with the magnitude and force of an ocean. It hardly felt like the same life anymore.

I noticed I wasn't thinking about Black Marsh's opening. My mood had been taken down too far for those kind of thoughts, apparently.

The corner was very close.

There were weeks more of this to go. If this is how the second day felt, things did not look good. And to think I'd predicted this time would be an epic blessing!

I turned left, now looking at the stairs.

I thought back to Soch-Eena. She was in the middle of the ocean right now, holding onto a rope under the sea, water batting against her. She was the one with the fate of the Empire in her hands, while a medal-winning Imperial soldier had become, temporarily, almost irrelevant. A former criminal was saving Black Marsh from the Argonian Royal Court and possibly the world from the Sload, the most heroic task since the Oblivion Crisis. Not only that, but she'd destroyed the Dark Brotherhood. No doubt we'd be mentioned side-by-side in the history books, but 'Densius Fidelis' would be morally dwarfed by the murderer of Philida. It was slightly sad and frustrating to think I might go down in history as a side-kick or afterthought, especially with all the mutilation undertaken to make it this far.

I was about half-way to the stairs. A door creaked somewhere else on this floor.

Hopefully they wouldn't mark me up even more. But then again, how could they pity a potential spy?

Would they have any assignments for this human beyond tests? It seemed I would have to analyze the merits of those, too. That meant more long, aching quandaries. And this was all because the mage giving the tests had been clumsy enough to let his sleeve fall. Otherwise, I'd probably be feeling mentally secure.

I began trotting down the stairs, right hand sliding down the glazed railing. As my feet pounded them, my mind went back to the climatic event incoming. I hit the flat area and turned. I went down the second set.

I began pondering the purpose of the tests. It seemed the Argonians were looking for a way to accelerate the process of Hist sap transformation through damaging flesh. It stood to reason they'd want to learn how to speed up the process: my hand had been dipped about two weeks ago, and yet the scales hadn't even spread onto my arm. It seemed it would take a year to get fully covered. But the mix of injuring and healing potion seemed to speed the process up drastically. It got me a day's worth of growth in about an hour. That meant they'd sped up the process by...about twenty-four fold, making a complete transformation take...only about two weeks. And their healing potion was a tier below top-notch. Military grade healing potion worked twice as fast.

I turned left.

Accelerating the process that much would definitely be useful, but fortunately they wouldn't think to apply that knowledge in time.

Yet what if their discovery about Soch-Eena had encouraged them to rush? What if they were going to take a risk, having somewhat predicted the invasion? After all, they couldn't expect two spies to try to take down the Argonian Royal Court alone; they must have known their two mysterious travelers were working for someone larger, and who could we be working for if not the Empire? My mind started rushing again.

It wasn't too late to turn back, unfortunately. With a sick feeling in my stomach, I retreated into my thoughts. My mind abuzz, free will's presence could be felt.

But I had no idea what to do if and after I refused to show them.

I could just go back to my room, but then what? Would I wait until they came? Would I fight them when they did? Then they could just check my corpse.

I turned another corner, seeing the fateful door to the medical room.

What if I ran outside so they couldn't find the body? The tower guards would spot me, but they would just figure their indentured servant was on an assignment.

To run off into the wilderness would be noble, but solemn. I'd face the blackness of death instead of the buzzing excitement of an opened Argonia.

Almost at the door, I needed to stop and sort this out.

If they were rushing to figure out how to start applying the Hist sap, it seemed probable I'd get another series of questions. Yet I could outright throw them off if their trust was gained now. That would be better than barring them from knowledge, which would be all that would happen if I decided to run away.

Yes, showing them the results was the right course of action. I stuffed thoughts to the contrary away again. Those wrong-minded doubts seemed to be getting harder to the fend off, the questions eroding mental barriers, but it would be over once I showed my hand to that lethargic mage.

I walked towards the door, a funny sort of tingly feeling all over at what I'd just dedicated myself to: I'd be showing them the truth now, but lying to them in the future. It was a mid-way between compliance and rebellion, though it was probably a safe route due to the fact I was given no medical treatment dependent on the answers provided an hour earlier.

I opened the door.

The man who'd run the tests was on a couch. He shifted and turned his head towards me, seeming a little perkier than before. I wondered if he still had the charm bracelet.

I walked up to him and my mind started to feel pleasantly boxed in. Yes, he did. But it was a reminder towards which one could feel only trace resentment due to the nature of a charm spell (at least one of military strength).

I held the hand out in front of him. Seemingly in sync with the awkward method of presentation, he stared at it. It still wasn't too late to change course: I could pull it away. But was there reason to? It was hard to think in the proximity of the charm. Again, was there reason to pull away? No, I had no reason to pull my hand away. All the questioning of this decision had made doubts reflexive, but they were irrational.

Or was that just what the bracelet was influencing me to think?

"Thank you." He replied.

He pushed himself up from the couch.

It was done, the information submitted. Internal bickering was pointless now.

As his footsteps creaked along the wooden floor, I was slowly becoming happy it was too late to change my mind.

I would be a terrifying soldier when the invasion came, because I'd been docile for this first test. Thinking about it that way, I felt clean and proud.

I turned and opened the door to walk back to bedroom forty.


	38. Dreaded Thras

"...the oceans of Mundus are as dangerous to travel as the pathways of Oblivion." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 16, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Near Thras, Abacean Sea

* * *

At three-forty-five, day four, it seemed this journey was almost finished. The decision about the Empire remained a mystery, even now, though. I was sure three days would stacked the reasons higher on one side but it had not. Fortunately, there'd still be about two more days I'd have to decide whether to deliver the data I was about to gather to the Argonian Royal Court or the Imperial Palace.

Still, the current mission here was clear: record the conversation and hijack the vehicle.

It was amazing I'd made it this far; the plan had seemed absurd, but it had worked.

Nonetheless, my mind raced with nervous wonder of what would be ahead.

There was something unshapely to the left. Its form was still very vague, but looked somewhat like a grounded whale. Yet it was somehow in tatters. It lost its organicness as I noticed it had a frequently supported railing on its top. A shipwreck: mast tumbled, planks and narrow pieces scattered.

Ahead there was also coral, or what appeared to be coral, but put in large formations: domes with large holes like windows and doors at their tops. Was that a glimpse of the mythisized coral kingdom of Thras? I tensed up, feeling extra conscious of my body, but took in the sights to the fullest, as blurry as they still were.

The surface was clearly slanting upwards. This vehicle must have been getting close to that island chain I'd read about. There were odd sensation in my hands. From here, I'd be plunged into danger's lake, the next few minutes being an endless contest of survival.

Now would be a good time to employ the Shadow power.

Yet I realized with horror the Shadow power wouldn't work in this circumstance: the fast-moving water would push if off! I flooded with fear as my mind rushed for what to do instead.

I'd have to press myself to the bottom of the ship and hope. I began climbing up the rope, thinking about all the eyes that could fall on me at any second. The city must have been infested with people who could look up, bringing life to an end. I was assaulted with terrifying thoughts as I ascended with all possible strength.

I was almost to the top so I wouldn't be such an obnoxiously obvious figure against the back drop.

I flipped over and clutched the bottom of the ship with my arms and legs and silently prayed to no one in particular not to be noticed, face pressed against the rough texture of the vehicle. I remained perfectly still, at the mercy of chance and begging it to grant me passage. Death was a serious possibility.

If only I'd brought a Chameleon potion! Those didn't get pushed off! That mistake might cost me life itself!

But there would have been no time to drink it.

I couldn't blame my lack of ideas: The current circumstance was no fault of my own. This danger was just a natural result of the mission. Maybe I'd been right to think the assignment ridiculous. This was worst environment for a job I'd ever faced. It was now clear how precious land was for stealth. The middle of the ocean had nothing but a bit of blur between distant objects.

Who would save the world if I was killed? My thoughts rushed. Only an Argonian could pull this off. Maybe another one of the Shadowscales who'd arrived at the palace. But if a fully trained and experienced agent couldn't accomplish this mission, how could an inexperienced Shadowscale? Would they even bother sending him or her to this booby-trap of a region?

I felt vulnerability all over my scales. If just one pair of eyes shifted to this vessel it would be all over, and there was an entire city which I couldn't see filled with eyes.

I could only deeply hope that no one noticed me on the bottom. My heart pounded hard against the vessel. I'd been forced to be still many times before, but always in the cover of foliage or housing. Here I was naked.

The Sload were hopefully more focused on their daily affairs in the city than the arrival of the vessel. Maybe they were too used to it to look up, oblivious that the most dramatic event in their homeland in centuries was taking place right above them. But it only took one glance to ruin this.

I noticed the vehicle was gradually loosing speed, probably because we were, unfortunately, significantly closer to the "streets" now: that made this Argonian more noticeable. Her texture would be clearer. Her form would be more discernable. There would be more time with which to see me.

Yet that also meant the vehicle was closer to its stopping point, which would mean the end of this straggling oppression.

In the place where so many people never returned from, it was torturous to have nothing to do but hold on like this. It still seemed a very real possibility I would join all the adventurous sailors in a wet grave. Everyone coming here thought they were the exception to the rule, that they could survive Thras. They had all been wrong.

So many would have devoted their life to seeing the city that was below, but all the wonders of this little-known place meant nothing when every citizen was an earnest risk. Was this how everyone who'd come to Thras had felt, their curiosity sapped out of them as survival-instincts took over their mind?

Hopefully a ship moving through the water was mundane enough of a sound to not turn any heads (if the Sload could truly be said to have heads), but it was easy to imagine some little Sload-children feeling otherwise, looking up at it excitedly only to see me and ask what I was doing there. I was growing nauseous.

Any moment someone could yell out about the Argonian leeching onto the vessel and I would find myself nightmarishly overwhelmed, swimming helplessly to who-knew-where. I'd seen how fast the Sload could move underwater, so I'd be killed before I could get far. No doubt this kingdom would be able to gobble me right up. I imagined bleeding red, wispy clouds into the water as life faded into nothing. This was what I'd endured all kinds of discomforts and constraints to get to! It looked like I might lose it all at the cruelest time! This was worse than all that time on the ship put together!

I'd lead a bizarre life: **Fights-up-close**, once expecting the normal life of Shadowscale, only to find out her best friend betrayed her employers. Killing him, she eventually got the same suspicions. Then she pledged to side with a "traitor" to destroy the Black Hand. After that she lived a life as a thief, due to her childhood not built for anything but criminality. Then she got picked up by the government of Cyrodiil to be sent to destroy the organization that raised her. They suspected a Sloadic plot and sent her to save Tamriel, killing her in the process. I'd gone from a Shadowscale to a Sload investigator. It was a surreal life story.

In the far reaches of my vision a roof flew by. This was brutally close to the rest of the populace. It would only take a small glance to notice the oddity on the bottom of this ship. I'd made it most of the way, but was still at the grueling mercy of fortune, waiting to hear the shout of being spotted. The fires of chance-death burned brighter.

There were many unpredictable, drastic, erratic opportunities and factors in this situation. My arms quaked with fear. Fate might throw cruelty my way and franticness would envelope this underwater city. Sload would stream out of their houses to kill the intruder. How damning it would feel to die now!

We passed another building, a whole story of it visible. No inhabitants were at the windows, fortunately. Maybe when I stopped seeing buildings, the danger would be done. For now I could only hope with every bit of mite no one was looking this way. It was a Shadowscale's hell: no Shadow power and not a spec of cover or mobility. How much longer until I'd be free of this brutal gauntlet of chance?

We passed another coral dome, but judging by its height it looked like the last. What a blessing it would be to survive this! Slowly a sense of gratitude towards...luck was seeping into me. I might indeed see the swamps again, be in a place without worry once more before I died.

Now there was only the sandy ocean floor to be seen: it looked like the vehicle was past the coral city. Had I cheated death!? I felt like laughing, euphoric!

In all unlikelihood it seemed I had indeed been granted more time on Nirn! The world seemed newly doused in bliss!

But the vessel would soon stop and the Sload would come out to attach a different rope to the loop I was using. It was necessary to detach now.

Yet I caught the flaw in that plan: I risked being chopped up by the back blade if I did so while the vessel was still moving!

Damn it! My spirit dropped like a rock! I would have to wait until they stopped and hope I could make it out in time. Fear began seeping into me again. This arrival was horrible! I became extra conscious of my body, the way it could be propelled away from the vehicle once I was off. My veins boiled with adrenaline.

The ship was slowing to a crawl.

They would soon be coming out to tie the ship down.

The vessel stopped.

I pushed myself from the tight clutch, back-pack hitting the bottom, and unhooked the grapple but didn't let go so I could drop the evidence of my presence somewhere further. I barrel-rolled back to a stomach-down position and began frantically swimming to the left.

Paddling viciously, the grapple in my hand was slowing me down, causing conflicting feelings to smack me hard from both sides. I hated the tool as I moved as fast as possible forward, the fear of death itself threatening to catch up and swallow me. I could only imagine what was going on behind me. This was Thras, the place where so many others had died; there might be one more in that count soon, that damn grapple possibly anchoring me to the grim reaper.

Maybe it was time to drop it, perhaps it would be worth the boost in speed, and maybe they couldn't realize what it was or associate with the ship at this distance. Yes.

I let go and it sunk somewhere out of view.

Sweet freedom! I cupped the hand that was previously holding it and pushed through the water with new grace and vigor, an animalistic focus on swimming forward.

It was imperative I got too far to identify. It was good that the shallow water was so sandy, but the scenario was still terrible. Fear, with every thrust, drained, but my mind was still on what could be behind. I continued to thoughtlessly swim with all possible strength, mind simple. Speed was all that mattered. My life took so much to maintain here.

They had probably already gotten out of the ship by now.

I kept swimming, but judging by the fact I had yet to detect a disturbance, I might be fine.

The idea they would never catch me was slowly seeping into me.

Yet it was too close for comfort. So far, it was clear this assignment barely within reach of my capabilities, and I wished to be anywhere else. Death'd been cheated twice, but there was no reason to count on a third time.

My body and mind were still shaken and disturbed. I slowed. My heart had been pounding quite hard, but my mind was seeping back into a normal state.

I turned around.

The ship wasn't visible anymore, so neither was I to them.

I let myself deflate of tension. Maybe fear had already done its worst.

My mind had already taken quite a battering from the previous two scares, but with all the Sload far away and nothing but the company of water, it looked like there could be calm for once. I granted myself a few seconds of rest; all my energy had been expended swimming away. I reflected with some bitter-sweet satisfaction on the recent luck I'd had and how fast I'd swam. I still felt a little guttural, raw, and shaken, but was starting to feel a bit of relief.

There was a sense of pride in managing to swim away. Even dropping the grapple seemed to be a wise decision.

I'd been right under and right above these creatures, and yet not spotted at all.

Hopefully there wouldn't be a third gauntlet.

Given I felt I'd recovered a bit of strength, I put my mind back on the plan.

The next step was to find a rock to emerge from the water behind.

Since there might still be someone in the ship, like the captain, it seemed a bad idea to head back in the ship's direction. I'd continue away from the vessel, but first get a bit closer to the surface to better make out the opportunities for emergence. I turned a quarter-circle towards the surface, planning to swim near the shore for a place to surface.

Swimming forward, I was moving towards the sun, which was crystalline and rippling with the water's distortion.

The Sload and I were in two different worlds: theirs was casual, mine was full of gravity and apprehension. Hopefully their conversation would be long so there'd be plenty of time to record it. Figuring out how to get close enough to do so would be another matter.

Through the waving water I seemed to be able to see some hearty greenery a distance from the shore. Thras was more colorful and vibrant than was intuitive.

Now my hands were close to scraping the bottom. It was getting closer to the point where I could go no shallower without making the backpack visible.

I turned to the left again, ready to look for rocks to cover my entrance.

No rocks in sight. Hopefully I wouldn't need to emerge epically far from the conversation.

I continued swimming. Every foot, though, was a detriment to the mission.

I would have to hope there'd be many obstructions on the surface: boulders and maybe even buildings dotting the beach.

A large form was subtle in the distance, subtle enough to be imaginary. Yet it became clear it wasn't. Yes, there, already, was the type of rock I was looking for! Finally luck had granted good graces!

As I swam towards it I couldn't relax fully, but something had finally gone right.

Hopefully the entire island surface was rocky.

Schools of tiny fish swam in the shallow waters.

How much cover would the surface hold for me? Would that greenery be useful for sneaking?

I kept swimming, but noticed dishearteningly there didn't seem to be any tall buildings, if any buildings at all, on the surface.

The shore was close. Soon I'd see what the surface held, what it gave me to work with and plan around.

I turned around the rock and began my way to emergence.

My fins were above water.

Then my whole head ascended into clear day. The roar of water ceased as I was on the stark beach surface. The sand was pleasantly fine and light.

The upper half of my body was out of the water. Very soon I'd be free to stand and use the Shadow power. The oppressive cruelty of the ocean would soon be gone completely, and this Shadowscale could finally unleash her specialty. The water at my feet was shallow. Just a few more pulls.

Yes, freedom!

I could let loose the Shadow energy any time, but first wanted to see what stood between this area and the Sload. I got on my hands and knees and then I began elevating myself just enough to peek through the rocks, mind rushing with all the possibilities.

Three Sload were talking in front of a sort of shed, two others laboriously approaching. There'd be plenty of time to get to the conversation and record it.

Yet nothing but sand laid between them and the stones I was behind.

My spirit sank like a rock. The endless sand stared back callously, a powerful message of indifference embedded in the landscape ahead. There was not a speck of cover until the shed.

My Shadow power was where all the chips were laid. The shed was far. It looked like it was approximately at the maximum range at which a Shadow could sneak safely to. It was a risk, but there was no other way.

Yes, I had to do this.

I mentally took a deep breath and pushed the Shadow energy onto the surface.

I stood up and stretchingly arched my leg over a rock, granted sixty seconds of hiding in the opened.

Once over the stone I began creeping forward, knowing the exact maximum pace at which one could move without shaking off the Shadow energy. Muscles tight, my instinct made me want to run as fast I could, but that would be fatal. My heart was pounding. It was all in luck's hands again. Committed to this risk, I was a soldier, but fear held me tightly.

My breaths were shallow, my stomach ached. Even if I survived this, it wouldn't be the last challenge: figuring out of how to drive back would be. But that task would allow some breathing room in the vessel, at least before it started, while this fearful experience didn't.

My foot pressed a shell into the sand.

To keep a boundary on my speed while life itself was at stake was an odd sensation. It was barrier I could feel hard and frustrating against my spirit in this gruelingly suspenseful and grimly serious test of chance. But my focus remained on that shack. That was the symbol of survival. Its position would make or break this mission.

Waves crashed onto the surface, glided in on smooth, wet sand, and then receeded back into the ocean.

Was this beach's layout merciful, or damning? It still looked like it would be close.

If spotted, maybe there would be some hope for survival in hiding in the small forest at the center of this island. It was hard to imagine Sload squeezing in there, and the foliage was certainly rich.

Yet they were masters of magicka; they'd burn me out.

However, then I would still have a chance to run from the foliage and retreat into water.

But they were clearly faster swimmers than even me, and the kingdom probably existed on both sides of the islands.

The situation was as bleak as it looked; If the Shadow power didn't last long this would be the end of my life. It was that simple, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise.

That was unless I could match them in combat. Still, five against one, and Tamrielics had little idea what kind of nightmarish powers might be at the Sload's disposal.

This was all about the Shadow power. Hope was chained to it completely. It was a fitting fate for a _Shadow_scale, and it could be a poetic end.

It seemed too late to even turn and go back behind the rock to hide again.

Imagining this as a nightmare brought a brief bliss. Yet I knew I wouldn't wake up. With all its coarseness and gravity warranted, this was real.

What would happen to the world if I didn't make it? Was this Shadowscale indeed the one thing that stood between the Sload and destroying Tamriel? If chance didn't grant mercy, would tens of millions die of sickness? Or was the Argonian Royal Court simply paranoid and this was all for nothing?

Either way, my duty and my life were one in the same until at that shed.

Though I was moving, I still had no freedom. I already was set on the optimal pace and direction.

There was a sharp gust of wind that felt strong enough to blow off the energy; it made my stomach tingle. The energy remained, fortunately, but the incident was unpleasantly jarring. I felt hotter and more self-conscious.

If I didn't make it, that would mean the end of two decades of life. I couldn't turn back now, I was trapped with death or success in the next twenty seconds. My armpits were damp, my breaths were shallow and uneven. This was the most important moment of my life.

I was close enough to here the "S" sounds in the Sloadic speech. Their voices were surprisingly high; I'd expected them to be low and booming.

If I made it, being back in Tamriel would be like sinking into bed after a long day, even if only for its ample cover.

My heart was pounding in my chest. Would time grant mercy or curses? The answer would come soon. When it did, my mood would either shoot up or plummet.

The shed didn't look like wood or coral. It didn't shine like metal, but perhaps it was painted. There also seemed to be some bizarre lock on its door. It was probably where they stored the cure. It was ironic that, even with my own sample, I'd see that shack anyway. In fact, it would be the most important part of this mission even though I didn't need the cure from it.

The two others from the ship were almost at the meeting point while the three continued chatting. Their slowness was casual, while mine was a nerve-wracking necessity.

My leg muscles felt like they were pushing against themselves. I begged time to make this work out.

Would they notice the disembodied foot-prints heading towards the building? The thought brought tension. I looked down to see how prominent they were. They were certainly discernable if one was looking for them: dark edged cracks, foot-shaped stamps in the sand. I didn't have experience with sandy beaches to properly gauge my odds.

The Sload had raspy voices, contrasting their girth.

My arms shook subtly. Everything I ever had was at stake here.

I focused on their eyes, as if they cast beams of magical destruction. I silently prayed they wouldn't see the footprints. Cold sweat ran down my face; I hoped the Sload didn't have a good enough sense of smell either. My own senses were certainly heightened, every step sounding like breaking glass. My mind was utterly pressed to reality, primed to see what would happen.

The two slug-men who'd been moving towards the meeting were very close to their fellow three now. Those were all the more eyes to spot an intruder with.

In several seconds the Shadow power would either wear off leaving me glaringly apparent or I'd barely make it to the shed. The answer to my fate would come soon. I could feel this prospect in every fiber of my body. Epic answers would arrive in only a spec of time: whether I would survive and, if not, what death felt like.

Now all the Sload were at the meeting point, and the slug-man in front of the shed turned to interview one of the new-comers. As if trying to telepathically beg them, I said in my head_ focus on your conversation, please focus on your conversation_.

It was a grueling tension with the building so close. Would all this fear float away or would I sink into nightmarish terror? I clenched my teeth. Would the foot-prints alert them, similarly sealing my fate for the worse?

Would I meet the Nine upon death? Would they be disappointed in me for never worshipping them? The idea of death seemed like a mind-swallowing vortex.

There was a very short distance until I'd get to that cover. The moment of truth, of sinking or rising, was so close. My body seemed to squeeze itself, and so did my mind. I could hear every subtlety.

Just a few more steps.

I was brutally primed for an emotional swerve.

It wasn't too late for misfortune to swoop in.

One more step. But as my foot arched, I knew the Shadow power could still stab its user in the back.

Then I finished the step, getting behind cover. The Shadow energy dissipated, not a second too late.

A sense of relief exploded throughout me! There was a feeling of incredible spiritual lightness as the fear lifted, knowing I would yet live, and Tamriel too!

I mentally relished in what luck had granted me as I removed the back-pack, gracefully twisting it around and getting it quietly on the sand. It was time to take out the recorder, give the fortune I was granted its worth. I opened the back-pack, feeling a fluency with this world.

I was bubbling with excitement about where I'd go from here, how my life would continue in this exhilarating universe! I opened the sound recorder's water-proof container.

Further challenges would be ahead, but right now I felt a hearty and slick readiness to take them on, and with a smile. I picked up the Dwemer device.

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A/N: I'm fully aware there are still some loose ends left in Thras. **Fights** isn't done there yet: there will be at least one more chapter covering her exit.

And just a routine reminder, reviewers: the more constructive criticism the better! I want to do all that's in my power (well, maybe not quite ALL, but you get my drift) to make this the best story in the Oblivion section. I wouldn't post this online if I didn't care what other people thought.


	39. Intimidating Machine

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor revisions due to advice from The Blackjack.

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"Yet, for all the horror and devastation that has come out of Thras, we know relatively little about the land itself." -Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 16, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Thras

* * *

The silence continued. That might have been it. All the conversation might be on these cylinders. The mission that once seemed impossible was now largely conquered.

Were they moving away? Intending to use Detect Life, I looked at the shed and let the rigidity of my mind dissolve.

Purple blobs emerged. It was hard to tell if they were moving given their slow pace, but it seemed they were.

Yes, I'd soon be alone on this island, safe and accomplished. It was all thanks to the luck of having just enough time to make it behind this shed. Now so much else would bloom from that.

It was time to put the sound-capturing device away. Making sure not to touch the other cylinders much, I gently set the machine back in its container and closed it. A thrill crawled through my arms. I refastened the backpack and swung it over my shoulders. The fate of Tamriel was in that box.

There was another challenge ahead, but after what'd been accomplished already, I was more charged to take it on.

It seemed smart to wait until they were a good deal away to start heading for the ship. Knowing the speed of the Sload, that would take a while.

I'd accomplished the absurd already, could I do it again and figure out how to pilot the ship?

How many levers and cranks would that vehicle contain? Would it be started accidentally? Would I unintentionally send it flying in the wrong direction?

It seemed a good time to check on the Sload again. I turned back towards the wall of the shed and let my mind flatten, letting logical thought drift away so I could transition into the Mystical state.

Four of the bulbous figures seemed to be heading straight, the fifth was slanted a bit towards the left.

I returned to a structured mental state.

If the ship could be mastered, there was the decision regarding the Empire to think about. It was something to mar the sense of accomplishment, a weightiness it would be a tremendous blessing to lift.

I stared down at the sand, noticing all the orange, white, and black pebbles contained within it. I wouldn't have true peace until I could find a satisfactory answer.

This mission contained the greatest challenges I'd ever faced.

The Empire would have a better chance of being able to deal with the Sload effectively: it was hard to imagine the Argonian Royal Court being able to do much. But I might be sealing Argonia's fate for the worse if the Empire got the cure.

It was such a weighty decision. It was hard to imagine any amount of thought would feel like enough.

It would be a feathery pleasantry to wake up and find out this was all a dream, that the decision was fiction. But that didn't happen.

Being so immersed in these thoughts, I almost forgot there was an immediate world to keep in check.

I assumed the Sload were too far to Detect so it was time to lean out.

Doing so, I saw they were almost at the water. Once they were submerged I'd have the duty to make more progress in the physical world.

It was still unclear what I'd be hijacking the ship in the name of, the Empire or the Argonian Royal Court.

Would seeing their ship drive away raise alarm? Would they panic? Would they give chase? They couldn't damage the hull with magic, I would gauge, so was there anything to worry about?

But what if their fear led them to release the plague early?

I felt something rotten inside. Another mental weight.

But if I didn't do anything the disease would be released inevitably. Yes, to consider hijacking the vessel a decision was a symptom of madness. I tried to keep such thoughts at bay, though they still called to me temptingly from the back of my mind.

I decided to peek out again.

The five were all in shallow water.

I moved back to my little sanctuary.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves in the vegetated part of the island.

It would be so liberating to have this done and confident the right choice was made, but that wasn't a guaranteed end state.

I'd have to get moving again as soon as the Sload were underwater.

I leaned out yet another time. Now the Sload were gone, submerged. Only the cure-carrying part of the ship was left above the surface as a reminder anything important had happened here.

It was time to step out from my long-used hiding place, making progress in the material world to aide whichever path I would take.

I mentally took a deep breath at crossing this new line and stepped out.

The crunch of sand under-foot was an odd sound after being still for what felt like hours. The Sload had no idea someone had been behind the shack where they decided to locate their meeting.

Heading towards the water, it would be quite a task to figure out the captain's whole job by trial and error.

It still wasn't clear what these steps were progressing towards: an Imperial Argonia, an informed Argonian Royal Court, or a deadly accident? As I stared into the horizon, the world was drenched in solemn gravity.

I continued forwards almost mechanically.

Hopefully the captain's role didn't require some sort of expertise, and he was only undertaking it because someone had to do it.

Certainly it would be fascinating to see how the Sload controlled the massive device, but the excitement of discovery was once again overshadowed by the potential to crash the ship and bring about a flood of doom.

I was about half way to the water.

Soon it would be back into the ocean after the brief respite on land. But the respite felt like a long one after getting so used to the sea.

Under the water was what had originally been my ride here, now a beast to tame. It was the final physical obstacle to conquer, but it could be a brutal one.

Half-inch deep water ran against my feet, then back.

The Sload were about to find quite an unusual disruption in their homeland. It would be a colossal and initial manifestation of a rogue presence.

The liquid was now ankle deep.

The ship was waiting idly for a master.

I was almost ready to start swimming.

The waves rolled past my shins.

Would I get a fuller look at the coral kingdom this time?

Water knee-deep, I dived into the more fluid motion of swimming. Then I submerged.

Returning to the roar of water after being bare and exposed on land, my hands nearly scraped sand.

It was odd to think I was about to be piloting an underwater ship. This whole city was adapted for a totally different life style, and I was expected to tame and steal a chunk of it. It sounded ridiculous, but so had what was accomplished already.

I'd been right under their noses for days, but only soon would they realize it.

Gliding over some unharvested coral, I began to muse over what would go through their heads when they saw their vehicle move absent of an authorized captain. It would bring at least a gust of worry and confusion, and a hurricane if I managed to escape entirely.

The ship could be seen faintly ahead. It was waiting innocently for this Argonian infiltrator. There was no security for the vehicle, probably because the Sload never expected an outsider to make it here. Or I hoped that was the reason, and not its complexity.

The ship's window was covered. Hopefully there was no lock on the top; my spirits sank slightly at the thought.

The slug-men I'd seen were probably relaxing in the city, totally oblivious that their ship still mattered.

I was quite close to the vessel. Already my insides felt like they were tightening.

It'd need to be untethered first. I swam towards the bottom, heading for the loop that had gotten this intruder here.

Once it was within arms-reach, I unhooked it and let the rope fall to the sea floor.

I headed towards the top, curving around to see the upper door.

Would it be locked? Tension accompanied the question, as did an acerbic sensation in my stomach.

I pulled the ridge on the hatch.

It opened. Relief. Maybe luck really was coming over to my side.

I swam in, just like I had at the palace, entering a piece of the Sload's upside-down world.

Just for precaution, I looked towards the captain's room to Detect Life. I let my thoughts spread and dissolve.

No purple emerged. Luck really had gifted me.

I headed towards the hatch to the captain's room.

I opened it, swimming into some new territory.

On the gravitational floor of the area was an opened box of white, glowing crystals. Did those somehow power this machine? I couldn't imagine why else they would be in here.

It was time to see the complexity of the ship's operation.

I looked up to see the upside-down chair and control panel.

It looked like there were only a bit more than ten variables. That was somewhat relieving.

However, manipulating the controls right-side-up and getting a good look out of the window at the same time seemed like it would be difficult.

Piloting this thing upside-down did sound very awkward, though the seat did have straps, two on each side (which looked like they were made of fish scales); maybe I should strap in that way. But those belts made for Sload, could they get tight enough?

Yet judging by the amount of holes in them, it looked like they could be as tight as desired.

I swam towards the seat and began the awkward motion of turning upside down. Once my head faced the ground I grabbed the chair and pulled into it. I clutched two straps. This was an odd task to do underwater. I pulled the right belt through the loop on the left, then inserted the metal piece through one of the many holes and clamped it. It resulted in an awkwardly large excess of the right strap sticking out, but as gravity insisted on pulling me down, the belt held me.

Being upside-down was still uncomfortable, a heaviness in-between my eyes and fins as blood poured downwards. Hopefully this wasn't how I'd have to spend all the time piloting. Their world was structured against humanoid biology, making me less eager about this journey.

The panel contained a large amount of levers and cranks, with a map clamped in near the center and a compass built in. There was also a small, rectangular tunnel which appeared to have some kind of mirror in it; it showed only darkness but appeared to be slanted for viewing the innards of the ship. Right below it was a crank and a lever. To the left of that was a hole in which a glowing, white crystal was inserted, similar to the objects in the crate "above."

This was it: the time to experiment and be in the presence of the potential lurch of death. All the controls stared callously.

I couldn't imagine anything sudden resulting from turning the cranks, so they seemed the safest way to start. I began in the "upper"-left corner, where there was a small crank identical to one on the opposite side.

My breathing was shallow, a funny feeling in my chest. Wondering what noises or sights would accompany, I ever so cautiously turned it.

No effect.

Relaxing a little, I turned it a bit more vigorously.

Still an empty result.

Maybe a switch had to be pulled for it to mean anything. Still, it wasn't time for levers yet, so I moved onto a wheel near it, which was heartier looking.

Preparing again for new stimuli, I softly turned it and was immediately jolted by a noise, blood rushing to my head.

I stopped, wondering what had happened. Had I moved?

A sliver of the window was now uncovered. I'd seen this process from outside the ship back in the palace lake. I deflated of tension. I continued.

Slowly the sloping sands of the shore I'd recently transversed became visible, the odd sight of the sea floor as a sky and the sky, rippling through the water, as the ground. One of the controls had been figured out, that was progress. A new confidence was seeping in as the window was half uncovered. However, this was just one of many controls. It was no time to relax yet.

The last of the window was cranked opened.

Now for the next wheel.

With a bit less fear I moved over to the crank by the mirror-tunnel. I planned to turn it softly first. When I tried it seemed jammed, though. Maybe it was dependent on the switch near it, but it wasn't time to use the binary controls.

I was nearly positive there was only one more crank left, if even.

I moved my gaze towards a semi-circular "crank" in the ship's center. It wasn't clear if it was binary, but it seemed like a logical next test. It was resting all the way to the left.

I subtly moved it rightward and immediately saw something emerge from within the vessel to graze the surface of the window.

A cleaning method.

Two of the controls already figured out, eight or so to go. But I was getting closer to moving the ship, so the sense of tension remained solid.

It was time to get brave now. The movements soon to result would be significant and heavy. Again, I started from the "top"-left. Two small switches were next to each other.

Braced for a new sound and ready to pull it back, I shifted the one on the left.

I faintly heard a noise above. Something at the top had been locked. The cure storage? Yes, that made sense.

I flipped the adjacent switch. Again something was locked, this one sounding like it came from the top hatch.

More preparations completed safely.

There were three big levers surrounding the map, with an additional one on the right. First, though, I'd experiment with the other options.

I looked towards the switch by the mirror-tunnel. Maybe now I could find out what that crank next to it did. I flipped it, no visible response, but it probably unlocked the wheel. I tried cranking again, and this time the wheel was free. The image in the mirror changed too, moving and soon appearing to show the water. Continuing to crank caused the image to look as if the point of view was rushing up the ocean. Then it breached the surface. It was a way of seeing above.

But I didn't need that yet, so I cranked it in reverse, descending back through the surface and down the water. As I turned the wheel, I reflected that I was making good progress on learning this ship. Soon the image was blackness. Then I could crank no further. I flipped the switch once more.

There was another switch below that, one of few before I'd start moving. Wondering what would result, I flipped it, and a noise came from the back. Unlocking the back-blade? That sounded right. As odd as the vehicle was, my intuition was syncing well with it.

There was one more lever not near the map, one more mechanism to play with before things got heavy and serious. I pulled it "up."

The blades started roaring, giving me a sensation like a grainy, electric explosion in my face! In flurry of fear I quickly shifted it back!

Had I moved!? Did the Sload hear?

But view through the window hadn't changed, I noticed.

Still, there was the noise. I felt a new weariness and sensitivity, my heart rate accelerating. Whatever that switch was for, it might have caught attention. I needed to start figuring out how to move!

My bodily systems were working hard to keep me primed.

The levers near the map were all centered except the one farthest to the right.

I decided to try the vertical one to the left of the map first. Would it start the ship moving? Fully prepared to pull it back to the original position, I tried to move it slowly and towards the clouds.

But it felt like it wasn't made for gradual progression, it had to go all the way.

So I pushed it, prepared for a roar of sound and visual rush through the window.

The heavy click was followed by an anti-climactic quiet. The capability of movement must have been somehow locked by another lever.

I put it back to its original position, wondering in the back of my mind if the Sload were moving towards me.

It seemed one would need to use one of the other vertical levers first, probably the one farthest to the right, which was all the way down. That must have unlocked the way to move.

I moved my hands towards it, my heart pounding. I pushed it "up."

Now it was primed to move. This was the part I'd feared. But then again, I had feared it would take me by surprise.

One of the vertical levers would move the ship forwards or backwards, the other would move it up or down, I guessed.

Breaths uneven, my insides tightened as I clutched the lever just to the right of the map, hoping it would move the ship backwards.

I tried to gradually pull it towards my feet, but that resulted in no movement. I pulled it a little harder. It moved a notch "down" and the ship lurched back, jolting me. I put the lever back to regroup, but now it felt undeniable I'd gotten their attention.

Somewhat shaken, but having found the golden lever, the ship was sufficiently mastered.

The horizontal lever must have been for steering, but if I moved backwards that would be unnecessary to get out of the city.

It seemed like a good plan to reverse all the way out now.

I pulled the lever towards my feet fully and my body was thrown violently forward by the burst of speed, the belt saving me from crashing into the control panel. Now the movement they'd probably inquired about was manifesting full force, but their curiosity was no danger to me. Relief poured into my mind to dissolve the fear.

Zooming backwards, watching the sand blur by, it was clear the incredible power of this machine. This was a successful hijacking. It was loud, and would no doubt attract eyes like bees to honey, but they'd have nothing to do. The genius of their technology was being used against them. Would they realize they'd brought someone back, or figure there was just a crazy slug-man in here making off with their precious hardware? Either way, it would incite ample unrest, but little consequence for this intruder.

I sped over a coral dome, and then another. The whole city seemed to be made of buildings little taller than they were wide, all designed to cooperate with push and pull of the ocean.

I could see some figures arriving at the windows of their houses. This was quite unexpected for them, no doubt. What were they thinking of all this?

Moving farther from the island, the coral structures were taller. Some seemed built into the sloping sands. Fish became more abundant sights, as did Sload, whose gazes were awestruck.

I was now zooming over the shipwreck, watching planks whiz by. I would be returning to Tamriel with a great treasure: this amazing machine!

Then I'd passed the wreck. The tops of building were significantly farther, but still visible.

If any Sload had thought to investigate the ship after the first noises, they were probably cursing themselves for not being quicker about entering it. I could rejoice in the fact that this assignment wasn't so ridiculous after all. I had to respect the Argonian Royal Court's ingenuity.

The vessel was nearly at the outskirts of the city.

It was getting difficult to see the ocean floor, having quickly transversed a very significant distance. To think this vehicle conquered the ocean the way it did, and it was at the command of an Argonian hijacker! It was an incongruous sight, and a historic one.

I was almost out of the view of Thras, the place so few returned from to tell a tale but I'd return from with so much more.

Now the schools of fish seemed like more significant company than the Sload.

Thras seemed to have faded from visibility. Soon it would be time to turn this thing for the more relaxed part of the journey, but I kept going backwards in the name of caution.

Thras was probably abuzz with what just happened, but I could relax finally. Now all that was left was the travel back to...somewhere. Either way, this victory momentarily numbed the pain of that dilemma.

I continued in reverse, utilizing the speed this technology was capable of fully.

Now their ship was hopelessly far for them, precious information in my back-pack. I could see nothing but the endless, bottomless sea, and that meant peace.

I decided it was time to turn, to use the horizontal lever and then send the one I'd used to reverse "upwards" so I could move forward.

I enthusiastically shifted the turning lever all the way to the right, throwing myself to the left in a gleeful sync with the vessel, and then quickly slammed it back to the center, having turned a bit more than a half-circle, and gave the other lever a hearty push headwards.

Now moving forward, I felt intimately acquainted with this vehicle: even when it was constructed by such a different species, the basic principles of logic allowed me to figure out its controls. It was refreshing to see 'common sense' truly having a universal use.

Yes, this machine was mastered. All of the mission was secure.

As the vehicle hummed forward and the ocean rushed by, I wouldn't need to pay careful attention for a while. Maybe I could even unstrap myself.

But that meant there was a harder task: determining where to take the cylinders. I'd rode into another challenge: a bigger one I wasn't so sure I could conquer. It was that seriousness I hated, the kind that necessitated long, anguishing thought processes and an inescapable duty carry them out as much as I could before leaving my deep mark on reality. It was the horrible burden of having freedom bigger than myself.


	40. Watery T junction

A/N: I am aware that slavery is now outlawed in Morrowind, but that doesn't mean **Fights** is.

UPDATE: This chapter has undergone minor revisions using advice offered by The BlackJack.

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"If the occupation of Morrowind and Black Marsh were motivated by idealistic aspirations, perhaps there might lie some justification for bearing the burden of Empire. But consider the shame of the Empire's mute acceptance to the unspeakable practice of slavery in Morrowind. Instead of using our Imperial legions to free the wretched Khajiit and Argonian slaves from their Dark Elf masters, we pay our troopers to PROTECT the indefensible institution of slavery. Within the ebony mines of Morrowind, bloated monopolists under Imperial charters exploit slave labor to harvest the outrageous profits assured by rampant graft and corruption." - The Eastern Provinces Impartially Considered

Sun's Dusk 18, 4E1

(**Fights-up-close**): Off the South-Eastern coast of Elsweyr, Padomiac Ocean

* * *

It was clearly the Elsweyri city on the peninsula being reflected through the mirror-tunnel, thin in its distance. That confirmed that _bearing_ right would take this ship to the Topal Bay. Turning a quarter-circle right would keep me headed towards Argonia, where the vessel could eventually turn North to move up river.

Finding the way here had been as easy as traveling along the coasts and looking frequently above and at the map. The fears I'd had about navigating this thing now meant little to me. What weighed heavily on this Argonian was where to take the proof. The decision cast a shadow on everything else.

I had the weight of tens of thousands of lives on my shoulders. The decision made here was the future of Argonia. An entire province was in my hands, dependent on one mind. I would have to carry the results of this decision on my consciousness for the rest of life.

So I could think better, I unstrapped myself.

Free from the binds of the chair, I gently drifted downwards.

I reoriented, paddling back right-side-up. After getting back upright I felt a little light-headed, but my mind slowly regained its integrity. When I felt normal again, I started thinking about the decision ahead.

I'd been lucky enough to destroy the Dark Brotherhood in passion and conviction, something I knew there would be little of here. The conclusion I had today would require labor pains, and no doubt whichever government I decided to defer to, the other would never leave the back of my mind. Staring at the situation, neither course felt more plausible. Eventually I knew I'd have to do that surreal push forward, Argonia's fate sealed, but for now I was stagnant, no delivery seeming more likely than the other.

My mind began brewing somewhere to start, to find the first of the building blocks which would determine the fate of Argonia.

_Down one path is an Argonia likely annexed by the Empire._ _Likely_. Not definitely. That word burned bright, already a reason to take the Imperial path.

Down the other was an Argonian left in the hands of the Argonian Royal Court.

The former was a storm: Imperial troops marching on Argonian soil, changing lifestyles, re-educating the population. The Imperials would drain resources from tribal territories and step on sacred grounds.

The latter was a quieter end, a less climactic one.

Yet I had always pitied the tribals' lack of comforts, which the Argonian Royal Court had plenty of but refused to share. The Empire could provide those.

And the Argonian Royal Court had started wars to prevent the tribes from uniting. Could there be anything worse than wars?

I was starting to move towards the Imperial side. Once considering them a bitter enemy, this former-Shadowscale might soon do them a tremendous favor.

And Densius said he suspected Cyrodiil had too much on its plate to _annex_ Argonia.

Yes, as the favor stacked on the Imperial path, the decision started to lighten. I could feel bright, clean liberation approaching. This decision might be pursued with a surprising degree of confidence.

But darkly I suspected the Elder Council had conned us, put together their little, four-person hodgepodge just so there could be a survivability test for their Legions. It seemed there were cold people in that palace, probably oblivious to the fact I saw through them. There was a sense of disconnect between us, discomfort in working with them. To think of handing them the map...

Yet the Argonian Royal Court was obviously a group of con-artists too. If not, I wouldn't have defected. So that didn't change the amount of positive difference the Empire's path had over the Court's.

Yes, it seemed the right way was clear. The position for the Empire was once again reinforced. It felt good to have additional confidence, even if there were no heroes here. There was happiness once again shining through.

But the survivability test: only a freak occurrence had saved Densius from death. Hadn't it failed, rendering them unable to enter Argonia?

Yet they could still send an all Argonian force. Surely they had enough of them to deal with the palace.

But not enough to annex the continent.

Perfect.

Yes, I was falling into grace, the Imperial side getting ever more sheilded. It now seemed so clean and obvious.

But what if the soldiers Cyrodiil sent brought back the cure?

Yet the Empire didn't know about the cure.

However, the text on the map used the word "**cure**".

Or what if Fidelis told them?

My spirits got heavier. My native land would indeed be taken over...but that didn't demolish all the ground the Empire had over the Argonian Royal Court, it just meant I'd have to accept some streaks of evil with the Argonian Royal Court's destruction.

As the machine hovered idly in the ocean, it looked like I'd indeed found the answer after all that coarse and straining drama. But when deciding a whole region's fate, why not take my time? No reason to rush the transformation of an entire province.

What reasons might there be to go against the Empire?

I wouldn't pull for those arguments, not fall for that self-torture that distorted reality, just wait for them.

...

...

A school of small, thin fish swam by the window.

...

Resistance to the invasion! An Imperial incursion into the area would no doubt mean war with many, many tribes, and the brutality of war was largely what leaned me towards the side of the Empire in the first place. That's what'd been missing to darken the situation again! When the decision came so quickly it was no surprise I'd forgotten something.

Yet Densius still said that the Empire probably wouldn't take over Argonia, simply because they had too much to handle in the other provinces.

But why would the Empire engage in a survivability test unless it had to send more than just Argonians, which would only be necessary if they planned to annex the territory?

Yes, they would try to take over Argonia.

In such a short time, I had gone from feeling of powerful conviction in the Empire back to square one. That meant more lingering in dilemma. The situation felt as murky as before.

Now I had to look at the options again.

Where was I?

The Argonian Royal Court...they'd start wars as long as they existed, because they'd never want the tribes to have comparable power to them.

But an Imperial invasion would bring havoc nearly everywhere in the central swamps, while the Argonian Royal Court only had a few tribes it was afraid of.

Now they were both war-makers...but the Empire was more than that; they were thieves too. Now the Argonian Royal Court was looking better.

It was again a mystery who this former Shadowscale would go with.

I was cursed to be stuck in the middle of this. A whole province's fate, with only hours to determine it given the limited fresh water supply!

Unless I headed for land before either palace, maybe stopped in Elsweyr.

But then when would my quandary end?

...

No answer arrived. I was starting to feel weary. I sighed a small bubble-string.

Freedom had been straining me ever since I started questioning the Dark Brotherhood. These days, nothing seemed more like paradise than being reduced to a modest existence.

The effects of either conclusion would cover so much time and space. I'd carry thoughts, regrets perhaps, until I was on my death bed.

But I was leaning towards the Argonian Royal Court.

_Yet..._

I blanked out. It was getting so hard to think.

_Yet..._

_Yet..._yet why did I trust that one book I read about the Empire to give their whole story? My life had been all about deception for political motives!

I sighed again, staring at the still sea through the window. The mysteries were just getting broader, there was less and less in my mind to grab hold of. A conclusion was further out of reach.

Unfortunately, it was a valid point; I'd been so sheltered as a Shadowscale that all I knew about the Empire I'd learned from someone with a political agenda to turn me against them, whether **Learns-fast** or the author of that Eastern provinces book.

Still, could I trust my ignorance of the Empire concealed something which would make it better than the Argonian Royal Court, or was that flimsy and desperate reasoning, the way of bias?

Cyrodiil _was_ in much better shape than Argonia: it was domestically quite peaceful.

But was that true of Cyrodiil's subjects?

I tried to imagine the two outcomes juxtaposed again. Going to the Imperial Palace would lead a take over of Argonia. The Argonian Royal Court would be gone, but it would be a bloody push inwards. Technologies would come to the province, giving the tribals comforts like those enjoyed in Gideon sanctuary, but resources would be extracted. Yet what were those resources extracted compared to the wealth they'd gain? It seemed little. Yet religious sights would be defiled. So they'd be wealthier, but not before a series of many wars, and much of their culture stepped on in the process.

Down another path would be more of the same for Argonia. Tribes would ignite into warfare every time they tried to unite. They'd be stuck with minimal means.

So both had bloody wars, but the Imperial path had more wealth.

Yet it also had more religious desecration.

But what was the the desecration of some false idols compared to a whole change in lifestyle, a whole province living like the people in Gideon?

Yet the Cyrodiils were protecting the slave trade.

But if they annexed Argonia, then it would be under Imperial protection, and make it much harder for the slave trade to take place, I'd think.

Though my mind was feeling increasingly strained, it had enough strength to see, even fleetingly, Imperialization of Argonia seemed like a solid improvement again.

But the Empire wasn't a side to trust quickly, so I tried to think of something to counter that.

Yet_ should_ I be forcing myself to think of something to counter the reasons to take their side? That produced bias, after all, as it meant I would be obtaining arguments to support one side not based on their frequency in the universe but based on my desire for them.

However, I'd inevitably been wrong at least once already, so there was reason to not trust the conclusion to go with the Empire.

But then when would this thought process end?

...

Perhaps _that_ question was more important to try to answer now than who should get the map.

When the stakes were high, it was hard to tell how long of a time frame would be appropriate. And that, of course, meant even more to anguish over.

Should I keep the question of where to take the map for decades, making a life in Elsweyr until I was withering away and then, on my last legs, deliver the paper to one of the two governmental buildings? It sounded fanatical, but would it really be fanatical with a question this important?

But making it to the central swamps again as an old woman was doubtful. My thoughts were starting to stray from common sense.

Still, who was to say this situation wouldn't warrant years of contemplation?

Yet the Sload, wasn't there a risk of them...unleashing the Khnahaten Flu in the midst of this chaos?

I'd forgotten that: I'd clearly made myself quite out of sorts to forget such an important 'detail.' At least common sense was still able to pull me back into the realm of realism...for now.

Yet what if I spent all my time trying to learn the Sloadic language through the sound trapped on the cylinders, the way an infant learns his native language? Then if they weren't going to attack I'd know and I could spend years thinking over whom to deliver the map too.

No, that was ridiculous! Even if I could manage to learn an entire language from one conversation, then surely however much time that would take they could release the plague. Common sense deflected another unsettling idea, but I was wary that even common sense might lose its strength soon.

How long should I be allowed to think this through?

The Khnahaten flu would devastate every province. Argonia was one of nine provinces: could I get somewhere dividing the time I was physically capable of thinking about this, the years that remained before I became frail, by nine? What formula could one work that into?

But it was becoming harder to recognize good logic, my mind feeling more like a swirling, meaningless jumble than an arena of construction. My cognitive abilities were becoming feeble.

My brain needed a break.

I stared down at the coral "ceiling" beneath pensively.

I once again reflected on the surrealness of being in an under-water ship made of coral. Wood was the main stuff of construction in Gideon, stone was it in the Imperial City, and in Sloadic civilization, it was coral.

...

I shifted my gaze to my hand and stared blankly at the black scales.

Then I closed my eyes, watching the flowing patterns of colored dots in the sea of blackness.

Hovering in an obscure part of the ocean in a novel machine, my mind had been worked furiously for the important decision that awaited.

...

Though a storm would exist in the future, for now the input from my senses was plain, rythmic, and mostly stagnant.

...

In the present, there was only mundance peace. My mind was essentially as blank as could be in consciousness: no angst, no enlightenment, no anxiety, no voices, no shapes.

It was difficult to block the thoughts of the question at hand with nothing else to do, however.

It seemed time to try and engage the internal argument again.

Yet I couldn't remember where I'd left off...

Then I did: Somehow, I thought I could use Argonia's size relative to the rest of Tamriel to determine how long I should think over the decision...Albeit I couldn't mold any kind of formula out of the fractured, wispy thought.

I remembered thinking the Empire had a better chance of being able to deal with the Sload. That was another plus for the Empire.

But I was still stuck wondering how long it would be appropriate to think about this.

I stared idly at the ocean out the window.

The whole of Tamriel was nine times as large as Argonia, so...did that mean I should wait one ninth of my remaining years to deliver the message? But how could the time I had available, simply the life span nature had granted Argonians, correlate with...

I ached and felt frustrated.

_Okay. I'll try this..._

_Every second I spend here makes it more likely I come to a better conclusion about my province. However, it also makes it more likely the Sload will unleash the Khnahaten Flu._

Preventing the Flu was more important: it would devastate more area than a bad decision about Argonia.

Something pleasantly cleared away. That thought spurred me to move right now, and with the Empire clearly stacked in favor.

A little worry about changing my mind danced around in the back of my head, but so far no more reasons to ally with the Argonian Royal Court came. There was a guttural thrill to plunging into a side of such a large decision with justified haste.

Though I felt the other possibility grating me, I didn't know if it was just my minds reflexive response to certainty I'd gained ever since defecting. No logic to justify the path of the Court arrived.

I reoriented myself. Upside down again, I moved towards the seat. There was an odd, light feeling of thrill in my bones that I was about to start moving towards a dramatic change in Argonia.

As I strapped myself back in, I felt the irony of starting a journey to give the Empire a tremendous gift.

I pulled the lever to move forward. The mechanisms in the ship roared, the vessel lurched, and the ocean began to rush by, the machine leaving the first mark of this big decision.

I shifted to turn the vehicle at a slight angle so the vessel would move into the Topal Bay instead of Elsweyr.

A new thought could come and change my mind any moment, but for now it was clear where I was headed. I'd be the catalyst of a giant revolution for Argonia. In a couple of days, I'd be behind an entirely new face for my homeland, pushed by the Sload to make such a quick decision. It was emotionally-mixed, stirring conclusion to the mission in Argonia, and the final destruction of those who'd crafted me. I was clearly a new woman now, a truth that brought a bitter-sweet invigoration, just as Argonia would become, with great gifts and destruction, a new province.


	41. Just a Few More Days

A/N: This chapter has undergone minor revisions since its initial release using advice offered by The BlackJack.

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"The most disciplined and effective military force in history, the Imperial Legions preserve the peace and rule of law in the Empire." -Savant's Notes on Vvardenfell

Sun's Dusk 25, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Argonian Royal Palace, Black Marsh

* * *

With several more noodles left, I twisted the fork around them. Almost done with lunch, I would normally be thinking about what I could scrape together to keep occupied, especially after having received no further tests. Today that was still somewhat a task, but less seemed to suffice with the invasion coming so soon. It was hard to feel bored when the climax of the mission was approaching.

Now my thoughts were filled with fantasies of the days to come. Maybe I'd be right here when it happened, the Argonian Royal Court becoming frantic as they heard there was an invasion force outside. They would be baffled as to how the Cyrodillic military could have been summoned. Instead of coming after me, the guards would be too distracted, rushing to defend the perimeter. I'd make it outdoors too and start fighting on the side of the Imperial soldiers, and be finally reunited with the military I proudly served under to put this castle that had held me prisoner in Cyrodiil's possession.

Now my plate was clear. I moved to finish up the last of the wine, grabbing the glass.

As I drank, I wondered how my countrymen would respond to me once I got back home, the man who'd reopened Argonia and freed it from tyranny, or one in a pair who accomplished such, anyway.

But it was a guilty irony that the only thing that allowed us to do such was that the Argonian Royal Court had sent Soch-Eena out to see if they might need to save the world.

I sat and stewed in that thought briefly, but then realized I was simply wasting time.

I put the glass down and pushed out my chair.

I turned, then jumped as I found myself face to face with a smiling Argonian in mage robes.

It was slightly embarrassing but he seemed unphased. He extended his hand to give a vigorous shake and, in a thickly accented voice, said, "Weekuiz, my name is. It is pleasure to meet you. The Argonian Royal Court would like you participate in very exciting test." This definitely caught me off guard. My mind rushed back to a mentality I'd nearly forgotten. "Follow me," he said. "We give you test in basement."

The basement? Maybe this would be more serious and deeper than my last test.

He turned and I followed.

Maybe they'd been toiling heavily since their last experiment with their captive human, and that's why there hadn't been another between then and now. I started to worry about what they might do next to me.

I went through the doorway, from the epitome of social activity to the quiet, lonesome halls. As we headed past the kitchen, I wondered if they'd ask more questions and I'd have to lie, as I'd planned about two weeks ago. The thought of lying made me grow nervous, but it was how I justified compliance in all other areas.

Coming back to the physical world, I noticed the brisk nature of Weekuiz's stride. Was he just a naturally cheerful person, or were they very excited about something they'd discovered? My head was filled with ominous wonder as we walked, what new developments there might be down in the floor below us. Evidently all that time I'd spent free of their experiments, they hadn't.

Perhaps the Sload hadn't actually been rushing them, and the slug-men had really been right in telling them to cut corners in their research.

But what could have made the Argonian Royal Court realize that they should indeed increase their pace in the way the Sload recommended?

Maybe they had sped up their research planning to please the slug-men once they returned, but had discovered cutting those corners was actually ideal.

Realizing how much my head had been in the clouds, though, I decided to bring my focus back to the halls we walked through. Weekuiz was about half way to the corner, after which he'd probably turn right, heading towards the mudroom so I could put on shoes before stepping outside to get to the basement. That might be where more profaning of my body would also occur.

It was in the basement the Dwemer equipment had been delivered. It was also where the animal parts had been taken.

We turned the corner.

The basement was too where the sap from the Hist trees in the garden at the back seemed to be going. Did that mean they'd be dipping part of my body in Hist sap? Were they planning to combine with animal parts, perhaps the very ones I'd helped gather for them? My stomach was starting to ache.

Might they be turning their captive into a prototype soldier, making me assist in what could get our troops kill; that brought more worry.

If the theory was correct, the tests run on my body would make a big contribution to their advancement. And would there be an opportunity to lie to them about something, to redeem myself from that contribution?

The dreaded burden of a decision between death and major compliance with the enemy could be felt.

But why would an Argonian organization use a human to create a prototype super warrior?

Yes, that idea was absurd. Good. I could just go with the flow, and hope the price my body paid wouldn't be too dear.

Then the charm bracelet came to mind. What if it was blocking thoughts that would justify defection!?

I feared the realizations that might come if out of the charm's range, but they needed to be confronted.

We were soon to turn a corner, but it was obvious where he was going so I decided to slow my steps and get a bit farther back, hoping the Argonian wouldn't notice. As I did, there was a storm in my head even while the outside world was so mundane**.** He turned the corner. I continued at the slow pace. Then I too turned the corner.

From the look of it he was now too far to 'charm' me so I got back to normal speed.

Now my mind was no longer blanketed. Would any new, sharp, revealing, cynical thoughts flow into my head? My brain was silent, though there was an increasing anxiety and feeling of rawness.

There was a short period in which I could figure out what I was getting into. After that, I'd already be into it.

We passed a hallway couch.

Doing my duty, I tried to push my thoughts into motion. Why exactly would they, more than a week after the first test, come back to take their human to the basement...

Inside me I could feel a flurry, yet still there was only silence.

I continued to press my mind for any realizations to justify non-compliance...

Was the charm not really necessary to keep a plausible prediction away? So far there was nothing. I hoped there would continue to be nothing so I could stick to my policy of illusionary conformity.

We were now very close to the mudroom door.

He held it opened for me, calling attention to how far back I was. Embarrassed, my mind rushed through what he might be thinking. Would he realize I knew about the charm bracelet? Or might he just think I was nervous about the tests? Hopefully it was the latter.

He gave a quick, thin smile, as if he sensed my trepidation.

As I got closer, back in the range of the charm they thought I was unaware of, the nerves faded.

What made me think this test would be fundamentally different from my first? It might leave some hideous marks, but at least I could comply with no guilt.

I went through the doorway and looked through the diverse collection of footwear to find mine.

I found the shoes and began jamming my feet in them.

Finished with the shoes, I looked towards the front door which he also held opened with a similar look. Feeling a bit conscious of my own facial expression, I wondered what would be natural right now.

I passed through the doorway, noticing all the fog outside, and turned right. Weekuiz then increased his pace to get in front of me again.

The air was heavy with the chirping of bugs and croaking of frogs, which I hadn't heard in a while due to being inside.

I considered drifting back again, but after null results from the first time I decided not to risk further suspicion.

What awaited to defile my pure, clean flesh in the basement? Hopefully the invasion force would come soon.

A small group of flesh flies were buzzing around each other ahead. The Argonian walked through them unphased, as they were uninterested in hard scales. Soft skin was a different story, of course, so I planned to shoo them away. Walking through the bugs' gathering, I waved my hands around to ward the insects off.

Weekuiz turned right, stepping around the corner and off the path.

Then I did the same.

Soft earth underfoot, the steps to that secret-fraught basement were thinly visible ahead. I recalled when I'd decided to leave Soch-Eena down there only to end up rescuing her seconds from death. Now they were once again a morbid omen.

A deep chirping echoed from somewhere in the distance.

Since the test was in the basement, would I get to see what the majority of the Argonian Royal Court's employees didn't? They must have really figured they had a tight hold on me. And why not? The nature of the Khnahaten Flu, which was in my body, meant there was no one I could run to. Little did they know that someone could come for _me_, and that Soch-Eena had probably already presented proof of their existence to the Elder Council, that in days the Legion would come and shut down their operations completely.

It was sort of sad, though, in a stabbing, tear-jerking way. They had been trying to save the world and accepted our help in doing so only to seal their doom because they embraced alliance with us. I felt extra self-conscious with that assessment, slightly ashamed, perhaps.

Was the charm causing those feelings?

Probably. I had to resist those sorts of thoughts when in its proximity, as legitimate as they could feel.

We were very close to the basement steps. Hopefully there'd be plenty of time between this experiment and the next one.

Weekuiz began trotting down them, his feet now on stone.

I turned to see the basement door as his key ring jingled out in the opened. Behind that door was somewhere I was previously hostility forbidden from. There must have been a treasure trove of secrets down there.

He inserted a key and twisted it, the heavy door opening to reveal a familiar floor. This was the place Soch-Eena had been held prisoner and no doubt the location of far more she hadn't seen. As he walked in and I followed, I knew I'd finally get to see what the Argonian Royal Palace prison cells looked like:

The one straight ahead was bare except for a stone bed and a hole in the center of the stained floor. There was child standing in its front-left corner, his long snout with a grim, fatalistic gaze, clothed in light-gray, drab, and coarse material like Soch-Eena had been.

Turning left I saw the large door we were heading for. I glanced at the cell to the right. It contained another child, sitting on his bed with a grim pensiveness, with a long snout like his fellow. He was clothed the same way. He had nails like a human, yet legs like a slave in Morrowind. There was a clay mug and plate of food on the floor: berries, meat, and bread, which was surprisingly hearty for a prisoner but all untouched.

To the right, the cell was empty.

When I noticed Weekuiz had stopped, now standing in front of a bulky metal door, so did I. As he sorted through his key ring, I looked to the left. That cell was empty as well.

I looked to the right, and a woman with a small scar on her face was sitting on her bed like the child had been. She turned to glance at me, but her worn expression didn't change. They must have been used to odd sights.

I heard a heavy creak and turned back towards Weekuiz to see the metal door, which was quite thick, opening. Immediately visible was a table with a bucket on it. Extending from the bucket was a wire to one of the Dwemer devices I'd helped deliver, which had a Varla stone in its compartment.

Weekuiz was heading towards that table. Near it was a man with black robes like a necromancer. He was holding a claw with long, thick talons... a hackwing claw. I tightened inside, wondering what experiment awaited me.

Stepping into the room, I looked to the right and saw two Argonians standing in large vats. The vessels were connected to identical Dwemer machines. The subjects' expressions were neutral, softer than those of the prisoners despite the fact that they were being experimented on. That was a small relief, allowing me to loosen and deflate a bit.

Weekuiz had picked up a small sack, which he was unfastening. Another drug? He removed from it a seed identical to the one given for the first test. This was going to involve more mutilation, more marks to carry with me forever.

With dark wonders, I took it and put it in my mouth. While chewing I grimly speculated over what they planned to do, and silently prayed the invasion force would come before I had to go through another test.

Weekuiz looked at his wrist-watch. "In five minutes you will put your hands in Hist sap," he said, pointing to the bucket. I looked down reflexively. Oddly, the liquid in the bucket was orange. That Hist sap must have been mixed with something.

As best I could guess they planned to mix my hands with hackwing flesh, and clearly something about the procedure was supposed to hurt. This would probably cause a much more radical change to my physiology than my first encounter with Hist sap had. It was easy to imagine some grotesque deformity resulting. Hopefully my theory they could use a non-effected part of my body to restore me to normal was correct. I was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

I lifted my gaze for more clues on what was to come.

There were gloves and a bloody saw on a table in front of me. That was unsettling.

To the right, on another table, was one of the other pieces of Dwemer equipment I'd helped escort. Against the walls were large chests. Above, tubes were hanging from the ceiling, the same ones that were connected to the trees in the garden at the rear of the palace.

I looked back at the liquid in the bucket. Was this test riskier than the first? Surely they would feel no shame in putting a probable spy's body in discord. That thought brought worry. What would become of my hands?


	42. Hackwing Claws

"As they slid through the water, Shehs explained to Scotti that the Agacephs were one of the many Argonian tribes that lived in the interior of the province, near the Hist, finding little in the outside world worth seeing. He was fortunate to have been found by them. The Nagas, the toad-like Paatru, and the winged Sarpa would have killed him on the spot." -The Argonian Account, Book Four

Sun's Dusk 25, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Subterranean laboratory, Black Marsh

* * *

My hands had undergone an incredible transformation during the four hours they'd been in the discolored Hist sap, a substance which, upon activating the machine at the beginning of those four hours, had taken on an intense, magical blue glow. My hands had become identical to the hackwing claws they were mixing with: they now had only four 'fingers' (but they were twice as thick as my former ones), three facing forward, and one backwards, each about nine-inches total with three of those inches made of deadly-looking, black talon. The skin of these claws was a yellow, leathery, bumpy kind of flesh that seemed to sag at the bottom. And the parts of my fore-arms that were in the Hist sap had changed to become rounder and similarly skinned too.

I'd witnessed this wild transformation slow enough to remember every detail. It seemed to happen from the outside inward. First my skin had been replaced or dissolved as was the case for the fore-sections of my fingers and the entirity of my ring fingers. Then, as the muscle on front third of all my fingers and the whole of my ring fingers began to dissolve too, grotesqueness contrasted with the dry manner of those conducting the experiment, my other fingers began to shift to new places: my thumbs were sent all the way to the backs of my hands, and my index and pinky fingers were spread to the point of being almost perpendicular. After that, the flesh which was fading had dissolved completely, leaving only bone in those places. For all those areas but my ring finger, the bone turned black the talons began to take form. Meanwhile, the areas between the bases of my fingers receded further inwards as what of my fore-arms were in the Hist sap started to expand, all the while the skeletal remains of the ring fingers withered away. At the same time my knuckle joints and the ones just in front of them moved back, all the while my fingers thickened.

The process was so intricate it almost seemed like there was an...intelligence in the liquid. Maybe that's why the Hist were rumored to be "sentient."

But in so many ways these last few hours contradicted my original theories about the Hist sap: The real hackwing claw that they'd put in the bucket remained unchanged, while according to my older theories it would have changed as much as my hands, in the opposite way.

Plus, I thought Hist sap only transformed a minority of traits its users possessed.

It also appeared the transformation was happening extremely fast, but that I figured I could explain: it seemed this experiment was some evolved version of the test I'd received upstairs a while back, which used injuries and healing potions to accelerate the spread of the anomalous tissue. In this case, it seemed the machine was providing the injuries by giving magicka burns (which explained the blue glow and the pain killers), while healing potion, which tended to be red, was what mixed with the sap to make it orange.

But the blood sample they took right before I put my hands in: where did that fit into all this? That still wasn't clear.

Another oddity was that through the whole thing I'd had a nearly insatiable, ravenous appetite that only started to fade in the last few minutes but which didn't seem to concern them. They even had a huge bowl of yogurt, or yogurt-like food, which they'd been constantly spoon-feeding me like a baby (which was awkward). They were doing something just like that to the other subjects too, who had their own bowls.

But even with so much mystery in this basement, one thing was crystal clear: this was quite a radical change. Getting scales was one thing, having the structure of one's hands totally reformed was another. I dearly hoped they could change me back but, grimly, it was obvious they would have no remorse if they could not. Then I would have to spend the rest of life as a jarring sight, a repulsive freak.

Maybe the blood sample they took, though, had something to do with restoring me.

Yes, there was hope for beautiful, smooth, soft flesh on all of my body again.

That brought a pleasant, clean-feeling relief.

Yet I couldn't forget that I was witnessing the most deeply buried activities of an enemy of the Empire, which gave me the kind of intelligence gathering potential most Blades could probably only dream of. From this I knew one component of their next-generation warrior would be the hackwing claws.

Still, why bother to equip a soldier with claws like this? Though they could bolster one's odds in unarmed combat, were they really preferable to holding a sword?

Maybe the hackwing claws were just a test for some better body parts to integrate in place of one's hands.

How much more effective could soldiers become by combining them with animal parts? I recollected that leaping tribal I'd seen awhile back; surely they'd love to change their bodies to be able to do that.

Would this line of research seriously revolutionize what it meant to be a warrior when it became part of mainstream society?

But whatever the distant future would hold, I hoped the invasion would come before the Argonian Royal Court made _their_ first super-soldier. There was a tickle of uncertainty and guilt at going along with this. Could I have not only blood, but also failure of the mission to take down the Argonian Royal Court on my hands? That was like a soul-swallowing vortex.

"Procedure is done," Weekuiz said, the words cutting the air. "You may remove hands, but keep them over bucket."

So that was it. The clock must have reached a certain point, and now I'd finally get to take these claws out of the mixture, get to move them (or try), learn how they felt against the air, and see them from many angles.

It would feel like quite a transformation to stand up straight again after four hours of leaning. _Here it goes..._

I stood up, claws emerging from the goo. I suspected erecting myself would have been painful after being in that position for so long if not for the drugs.

Finally feeling the claws against the air, they seemed less sensitive than human hands.

I flexed my new 'fingers' with fascination. Even with the body map so drastically changed, I could move them effortlessly yet inexplicably, another creature's body part in my control. This was experienced by ancient Tamriel, but something my ancestors, and most people's ancestors, had never tasted.

Weekuiz's hands moved into view with a thick, white cloth which he used to rub the sap off my new parts.

This would make quite a story to tell when the Legion or Marines came to my rescue. But there'd be many more amazing tales to tell when this research got into Cyrodiilic hands.

When he was done, he walked somewhere out of sight.

I rotated my wrists to see the bottoms of my new 'hands', which were full of ridges, but despite their sag-like appearances when facing downwards, stiff. I marveled at the sight: human body and hackwing parts, combined perfectly.

In the background I heard Weekuiz open a drawer, probably stuff the cloth in it, and close it.

Then he said, "Okay, you may move hands from...above bucket now. Next I take you outside." That long experiment was over, now it was time to interact with the world with new body parts. Now it was time for who-knew-what.

I turned around after having the same view for four hours, towards the door. I felt slightly dizzy, the effects of the seed still somewhat present. The Argonian was going to open it, and I realized I still had my hands splayed out in front of me. Careful not to scratch my thighs, I slowly lowered them down to what seemed a slightly more natural position.

He opened the thick metal door and walked into the hall. I followed, wondering what we'd do outside.

He turned his head a bit back as we went. "If you have strange sensations or numbness in area of transformation, please tell me." I guessed one shouldn't expect such a big change to something as complicated as a human body to necessarily go silky smooth. Still, it was remarkable it had even gone this well.

Walking past the prisoners, I wondered if they'd seen their fellows transformed like this.

There was the sound of something heavy but soft being dragged through the doorway we'd just come from, but it seemed unimportant.

As Weekuiz rounded the corner to the stairs, so did I. Would this be the first time a Hist sap test subject saw the light of day? I was under the impression they were all kept in the basement. And the palace had many windows, so anything that occurred out there couldn't be something expected to stay under-wraps.

As he opened the door, light flooded on the stone and stung my eyes.

I stepped outside, finally off the rock flooring, back with the chirping swamp.

Here anyone could look out a window to see the palace's resident sore-thumb had become thoroughly freakier.

But how much did the average palace inhabitant know about the Hist sap research? Soch-Eena had talked about how secretive her branch of the Argonian Royal Court had been, but I was under the impression the palace staff was a collection of the most loyal and trustworthy employees of the organization, so they might be less secretive with them.

Weekuiz stopped and turned towards me, though his gaze seemed more distant, past my shoulder. It appeared he was looking at whoever was dragging that thing I'd heard up the stairs. I turned to see exactly what was being pulled.

What I saw was a corpse being hauled face-up. That was quite jarring and unexpected. The dead Argonian's arms had wing-like growths. His snout was short, like his brethren in Cyrodiil, and his hands were not clawed, but his legs were structured like those of a Morrowindi slave. He seemed to have some partially developed fins on his back.

Was he the product of a failed Hist sap experiment?

Soon the muscular man pulling him set foot on the soggy ground. Then half the cadaver was on natural ground. Then the whole body was.

With a hearty pull the muscular man yanked the body upright as best he could, its head hanging downwards in utter indifference. The living Argonian then tossed the dead one's arms up slightly and quickly arched over to make a quick grab with the inner side of his elbows so the two bodies would really be parallel. He straightened back up and then turned Southward.

He began stepping in reverse, seemingly to get out of the way of the basement door.

Why would he carry the dead man like that?

Was that body going to be the target dummy for these claws?

The muscular Argonian halted.

Weekuiz spoke, "We want test the effectiveness of claws against corpse," The prediction was right. "Please step over to the corpse and do as instructed."

I guessed they were too serious about figuring out how hackwing talons could work against flesh to settle for a wooden dummy. I began walking towards the limp Argonian (Weekuiz doing the same likely to get a better view), but this certainly felt...odd to use a real body for practice. And it would feel even stranger considering I'd be imbedding a new part of me in the corpse. I'd killed many times before, but never using myself directly.

In front of the body with my bulbous new appendages, Weekuiz said, "We want to see if hackwing claws can penetrate bone. Please strike head of corpse as hard as can."

The man holding the cadaver leaned back as much as he could without moving his arms, to the point of giving himself a bit of a second chin.

If this worked, my claws would end up in a human brain. _Charming. _First time I'd ever used a corpse for practice, and the first time I'd ever pierced flesh with my body.

Still, it was what was expected of me under Weekuiz's gaze, so I reared a powerful claw back and sent it flying towards the dead Argonian's head in a blur.

With a sickening cracking noise, I found the nails indeed had passed through the skull. Infact, they were embedded quite deep.

Standing with a hand jammed in a man's head was certainly an awkward position.

"Very good, now remove claw from head," Weekuiz said.

I tried to slowly withdrawn the savage claw, pressing my mind to the sound-scape for some disgusting noise, but the auditory signature was slight. Juices were glistening on the talons to remind us all where those claws had been, though. I tried to just think of the new 'hands' as an extension, rather than a part, of me.

Then they were completely out.

Gore was something I'd _seen_ plenty of, but having such physical intimacy with it was new. I held my 'hand' far infront of me.

With the talons out, it was clear just how devestating the impact had been to the poor creature's skull.

Yet why was Weekuiz so intent to stay close to me but unconcerned with getting a good angle to see the damage?

A quick and weak mental blip told me: the charm bracelet! He was trying to keep my mind under his thumb while he watched me test the body parts they had planned for their fighters!

The wounds on the corpse now seemed much more piognant. Could they be an omen of what would happen to a soldier of the Empire if the Argonian Royal Court was quick to develop their next-generation warriors?

Then I heard someone walking towards us from behind. I turned around.

Coming was an Argonian in the guardsman uniform holding a leather helmet. Was he here for our group? I glanced back at the man holding the corpse, who seemed to be gazing at the soldier expectantly.

He got close, then walked past me, towards the corpse.

He put the helmet on its head. Odd...unless they wanted to see if these claws had the power to pierce both bone _and_ leather together. That would be impressive.

And frightening.

As the delivery-man began walking back Southward, Weekuiz said, "Now, try again, at different spot, but through leather."

Indeed they thought it possible. Just how deadly were these talons?

Whatever the answer, I was helping them learn about these claws' potential.

But what were the chances they'd really build a super-soldier, a project they must have been working on _at least_ since Soch-Eena and I got here, in the next few days?

"Go on," Weekuiz said, jolting me back to the present.

Time was pulling me away kicking and screaming. Yet with no definite conclusion to not comply, the only thing I knew I wanted to do was not look suspicious.

It was time to try for a second puncture wound. Aiming a bit farther to the rear of the skull, I reeled back the right claw and sent it flying towards the cadaver's head, feeling the very inertia in my thick, new fingers.

My talons pierced the leather. Though they were only buried half as deep as last time, they probably made it to the brain. The impact hurt somewhat, but it felt like nothing serious. I could clearly see why the Argonian Royal Court would want to harness the power of these hackwing parts.

"Impressive," Weekuiz commented. Could I have faked them out, hidden the true potential of the talons by hitting lighter, or would they have noticed? I didn't know.

Regardless, I had moral warrant to not give them any further suspicion; I'd have to be physically active so my head wouldn't appear to be in the clouds.

I began withdrawing the gore saturated claws from the now heavily damaged skull.

When they were back out in the air Weekuiz said, "Now follow me."

The man holding the corpse put his head back to its original position.

I turned, seeing my instructor walking in the direction of a thick, tall tree.

Behind me I heard the body thud on the ground. After that, something relatively small and light was moved against the forest floor. Then it sounded as if the body were getting dragged through the dirt and leaves. They were probably disposing of it in the wilderness.

What would be next to test? What could they possibly want with these claws and that tree? Talons made good weapons, but what did they have to do with trees?

But did it matter? Would it change whether this agent of the Empire should comply?

Was the bracelet what was making me continue to go along with this?

We were almost to the tree.

I heard the yell of a tribal far in the distance.

Now we were very close to the trunk.

Weekuiz stopped and turned with a soft smile on his face. If only _I_ could truly relax during these tests. But did they really think I could, given the fishy allegiance of this 'adventurer?'

Weekuiz spoke, "We would like to see you attempt tree climbing with claws. If you can penetrate wood deeply with strike of claw, then you should be able to...use only that grip of claws in wood to continually move up. Do not wrap you around tree. You hit claw into tree, then..." Weekuiz seemed to think he'd gone off in the wrong direction, and reset his instructions. "For example, you hit right claw into tree, then hit left claw higher, then remove right claw and hit higher than left claw." _Put one claw above the other, like walking, only vertical._ It was clear what he wanted: to find out if these talons could be used to scale wooden surfaces. The mighty tree-mystery was solved. These claws could be surprisingly nifty.

I took a couple more steps towards the trunk.

But then I fleetingly and weakly recalled there was a dilemma I couldn't forget: compliance. The charm must have pushed that out of my mental foreground.

But I _had_ thought it ridiculous that they'd build super-fighters in the next few days, so wasn't it okay to comply here?

...

What if the charm was blocking a counter-conclusion?

Yet whatever the case, this thinking was attracting attention. I had to get back to my assignment.

Right claw about eye-level, I reeled my 'hand' back and then struck it into the wood, not quite feeling like the action was my own but not quite feeling like someone possessed me to do it either.

The talons stuck about an inch into the tree. Was that deep enough? We'd see.

I reeled back the left claw to aim higher, all the while wondering if the compliance I was doing was justified.

I struck that 'hand' into the wood with similar results.

Now it was time to remove the right claw so I could place it higher, realizing I probably should have started where the left claw was planted but had been too distracted to be that logical.

I withdrew the claw.

Once it was out, I again forced myself to consider the moral implication of what I was doing. But what if I was asked questions at the end? If that happened, if it was standard procedure, going along would be justified. If not, I still had serious reason to worry about this conduct, and the grim possibility of it being my duty to run off into the dangerous Argonian wild.

But again, this stalling was generating distrust towards me.

To strike higher with my right hand, I pulled myself up with my left arm, lifting my feet off the ground and truly beginning a 'climbed' state. I planted the right claw back into the tree.

That seemed absolute proof the concept of scaling surfaces with hackwing claws was possible. Did Weekuiz want more?

He spoke, "Are your hands uncomfortable? You think it healthy to climb more?"

Though this was slightly straining position, it didn't feel like it could lead to anything morbid anytime soon. I could make it to the canopy.

That meant this was an opportunity to lie, a cushion to fall into! Liberation!

"No," I said, the words of deceit powerful against my ears. "I think I should get down."

That was the redeeming deception that would let me stay in the safety of the palace. A comfort started to flow into the world.

I began withdrawing the right claw from the wood, soon to fall somewhat because of it.

I jolted down, left arm now hanging above the rest of me again.

After I removed that one from the tree too, I stepped back and let it settle to my side.

Hopefully their plan to tap the power of these claws was somewhat thwarted. I turned back to my instructor.

"That concludes tests," said Weekuiz. Good, the rest of the day could flow easily. "We will appreciate if you keep claws to next test, tomorrow."

What!? Another test so soon and I was going to spend a day a freak like this!?

"Why?" I asked, voice oddly not portraying the tempest inside. I was freed from the heavy shackles after fooling them, but now felt like half the weight was reinstalled.

"We like to see...what complications could arise after outfit our guards always with...such...features. It is...perhaps it was wrong to say today's tests are over, it is more test for you."

So I should expect to encounter inconveniences in mundane tasks with these new parts. Not only would this human be a freak, but a bumbling one too. No compassion should be expected for a spy in enemy territory, though.

But what was worse was there'd come another experiment only the next day.

Further questioning seemed pointless. "Okay," I said, the words like bitter medicine.

First I was just a scaly-palmed human in a palace of Argonians, now I was a human-hackwing hybrid, and if next test wasn't fatal, who knew what I would look like!

None the less, I turned, only to give the appearance of doing something when I was really indecisive about where to go next, mind largely occupied by sour thoughts.

As I walked towards the mudroom, not sure if I'd actually enter it, Weekuiz called, "We will have much longer time together tomorrow. I will meet you at breakfast. Best you eat big meal."

The next test was going to be much more time-consuming. _Great._

After such a long break, I now had two test days in a row!

But was that something more than bad luck? Were they rushing? Did they predict what was coming? A sickening sort of worry was starting to creep up as I walked.

But hopefully the invasion would come soon, before this work would come to fruition, or before the hodge-podge they turned their human test subject into meant his body parts could no longer work together.

In my estimation, any moment now the Legion or Marines could come and raid the palace. Yet despite my estimations, every moment of the last two days they'd failed to.

This slave of the Argonian Royal Court was dangling at the mercy of chance to a large extent, the day of the invasion being everything.

With luck, would the raid come this evening? Tomorrow? Would I wake or stop breakfast to the sounds of war, or would fortune callously, frustratingly, teasingly let me be subject to another test? And maybe yet another after that? And then perhaps the Argonian Royal Court would prepare their first super-soldiers.


	43. Super Soldier

A/N: To those I sent messages to asking about how the Hist sap should work: turns out it wasn't necessary to figure out for this story. Just thought you should know. I'll continue thinking on the issue.

* * *

"The Hist trees of Black Marsh, most say, were the original life forms on our continent, followed by the progenitors of the modern Khajiit, the modern Argonian..." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Sun's Dusk 26, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Subterranean Laboratory, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

I'd been forced to sit naked in this tub of sap since breakfast. Now it was after dinner.

It seemed I had been granted to live through another test, fear during it dulled by the seeds. (I felt like I was scheduled for another one any second now.) Yet this transformation was far greater than the last, my legs altered to look like those of a 'hopper', the creatures I'd hunted with Wuka-Jeenusie a while back.

Yet even though it was a large vat I was in and a large metamorphous that had occurred, they hadn't used a large part of the animal's body, but only a small jar of its blood.

My legs were now scaly, feet clawed, and bone structure thoroughly transformed. But the most memorable part had been watching a bizarre and oddly gross transformation in my nether regions. Apparently the keenen had very weird looking genitals. Fortunately, the deeper the transformation sank, the more the hideous new parts sank into my insides, where I assumed they were supposed to be stored until sexual arousal.

I was allowed to emancipate myself from this position only in sporadic, brief spurts, so essentially I'd spent the whole day sitting, most of that time worrying that the experiment wouldn't go smoothly. The fear probably would have been worse if not for the drugs, but those still didn't make this feel emotionally worth it.

The hunger which marked the last test had returned, though this time, thankfully, with less persistence.

Hopefully the invasion would come this evening. Every hour it didn't, it was like reality taunting me.

If it did not, what would the next test be? Would it be even more ambitious? Or would the transformation be more acute so as not to disrupt what they'd already accomplished, since it looked like I was being made into their prototype super-warrior.

I might have been clued in on what they planned after this: I had witnessed them experimenting on someone else. A female prisoner had been hunched over a vat, almost completely submerging her arms in sap with a hackwing wing. However, the experiment was cut short early, and when her arms emerged they were covered in yellow scales, like mine at the beginning of the talon metamorphous. Some disapointed staff had dried her off and escorted her back to her cell. I got the impression wings were originally intended to be next for me, but since that test had failed they'd think of something else. What exactly, I hadn't concluded.

Still, during all these hours in the vat I had much time to think about how they were transforming me. The fact that I'd received immunities from Hist sap in a _wooden_ cup made it seem the Hist sap wouldn't change living flesh into the anatomy of dead organic material. Yet I was being mixed with a dead creature's blood to transform me. In both instances there'd been a man in what appeared to be necromancers' robes present. That led to my theory he was applying necromantic magic to the blood, and that was 'tricking' the Hist sap into using the dead body-parts. It was a thin theory, but one with merit.

Still, once the government read the documents in this place theories would be unnecessary.

Then I heard Weekuiz turn off the Dwemer device.

Did that mean this was almost over, what I'd been waiting for essentially all day?

He started to scribble something down. That wasn't anything I recalled him doing last time, though maybe I just hadn't been paying enough attention. Regardless, it seemed all this vat-time was about to end.

But there was the question of how I should perform when they tested these new body parts. If I could jump higher or run faster with them, should I? That query was another burden, and one I could not appropriately feel the pull of with the seed's influence.

Conflict accompanied me even out of battle. Their slave was secretly passive-aggressive, walking a dangerous line.

Maybe there was something in the keenen that went beyond the legs which let them jump so high and run so fast. Maybe it was some way in which their body channeled its power. Maybe their hearts or lungs let them run so fast. Maybe it was with the aid of muscles that extended past the area in which they'd reconstructed me.

And even if it wasn't, faking them out shouldn't be hard. It wasn't difficult to jump lower than one really could, or not run as fast as one's threshold of ability.

But could there be ways to tell I wasn't pushing myself to the limit? If running didn't turn my face red and cause sweating, they'd know I wasn't giving it all I had. Maybe they could figure out something similar for jumping.

I heard Weekuiz walking again and snapped back to reality. He was heading towards the cabinets.

He opened one up, removing a large, fresh, white cloth. He began carrying it towards the my tub. First he'd dry me off, then would come a period of dual loyalties.

The Argonian the laid out the cloth in front of the vat; it seemed I was supposed to step on it.

To think, a whole day spent in this tank! A whole day sitting, under the influence of a hard drug.

He then started heading back the cabinet. Something to _rub _me dry with, probably. Weekuiz picked out a small cloth. Yes. He began walking back.

Then he got to standing in front of the one he'd laid down.

"Procedure is done," the Argonian said, speaking the fateful words, marking my transition to an uneasy freedom with a new body. "You may step out."

I erected myself, an odd feeling after sitting for so long.

So far the legs functioned.

Now it was time to get completely out of the goo.

Their finished product began to emerge from the metal vat.

As my first foot touched the cloth, I found there was no sensation: numbness. That was alarming; my mind rushed.

But he'd hinted that was a possible side-effect yesterday.

I'd tell him, but I decided to remove the other one first to see if that one could feel.

Also numb. What did this mean? Was my whole new lower half feelingless?

Worries began seeping into me.

"My feet are numb," I said.

"Thank you for telling me that," Weekuiz said. Reassuringly, he sounded calm. "Do not worry, is common problem with transforming body parts into larger or more sensitive variety." That was a relief.

Or was it? I _was_ hoping the legs wouldn't work, so I wouldn't have to try to fake them out.

Weekuiz began drying my feet and ankles, and the overwhelming majority of me was clearly not deprived of sensation. In fact, it possessed an uncomfortable tenderness in this situation.

He worked his way up, ultimately drying...everywhere, another way to make this situation degrading as my mind was sobering up from the drug.

Then he was done. He walked off to open a deep drawer to drop the cloth in.

It was obvious that next we'd go outside, where I'd be a sight for everyone to see. I would be naked, about half my body replaced: a blaring oddity.

"Follow me to the outdoors," he said. He started moving, I followed, their little lab-monkey. My world titled a bit.

I could feel a sort of spring in the legs with the steps. I was being treated to an intriguing experience, feeling what members of another species did when they walked.

We got into the hall. Now it would almost be dark outside.

Making it through the lab doorway, I passed the prisoners, wondering what they'd think of me now that everything from the waist down had been converted. This test subject was surely an eye-magnet.

I looked down at the new legs again. The nails on those feral feet looked like they could make good traction for climbing. The super-soldier was coming together, except he was more of an infiltrator: these replacements didn't seem like they'd be great for a defensive soldier, but in a wooden city like Bravil or Gideon I might be able to infiltrate and evade anywhere.

If this prototype was entering its latter stages, that meant the help I was giving them might soon become useful. Apprehension brewed in me as I again thought about tricking them, and it would be worse when the drugs fully wore off. That trial was coming.

Weekuiz turned the corner to start up the stairs.

I turned the corner. He twisted the knob.

Faking them out...

The Argonian opened it, presenting the orangey sky and black trees.

He seemed to halt early, though. What did that mean?

The invasion force? The thought was a spark of joy, but still only a spark until it was confirmed. I stepped out fully to see, filled with anticipation.

Ahead, there were humanoid shadows against the setting sun. They seemed to be moving towards us. Now my mind was ablaze!

My contact with the outside world was re-established! I was free! Finally the gods had stopped dangling meat over my head!

They were still far, though. The tower-guards definitely could not yet see them through the tree canopies.

I shifted attention to my role as an Argonian Royal Court enemy just as Weekuiz whipped around and bolted out of sight, screaming something in his native tongue. He was probably warning the guards about the incoming charge.

I could jump and climb up the wall to take out the sentries. That would be a big help.

It would be dangerous to go up there, but right now, in an invigorating way, I was ready to fight, risk, and kill for the Legion like never before. The Argonian Royal Court would indeed see how high these legs could jump.

I turned towards the wall I was going to scale. For the first time, it looked like a ladder.

Running with new legs over to the West side of the building, I knew this would be like nothing a soldier'd ever done.

I was no longer a slave.

I slowed to a stop, right in front of it, before even fully accelerating.

Soon to know these legs' capabilities, I jumped.

They threw me many feet into the air. These parts clearly were useful.

Begining to descend, I quickly slammed my claw into the wood-work. I dangled, briefly worried gravity might make me lose my grip, before slamming my left claw into the wall too. Yes, it was working. Just like the Argonian Royal Court had dreamed, and just like would be their nightmare.

As I climbed I knew that once I made it to the roof walkway, it'd probably catch the attention of the guards. I'd have to be ready to dodge any incoming projectiles, solid or magical. They might even notice my hands before that.

There was little climbing left to do. I managed to get my left hand high enough to stick it in the shallowly slanting roof. Soon my claw might be visible to them. I tensed as I put my right one on top of the cover. I got a sort of numb sensation on my muscles as I pulled myself up. I was in fate's hands, knowing my vulnerability in the event either side noticed.

Then I was over it, on the walkway, fully exposed but still not seared.

I turned southward to see if that guard had noticed. The south sentry turned towards me. He had.

The Argonian extended his hand. He cast an electric spell, the first combat threat.

I rolled viciously away, knowing there could be one coming from behind too.

The would-be devastating blast sailed past me.

Then there was a thud from the tower behind. The other man was hit with that electric blast! It had looked powerful enough to knock him out for a while, with a significant chance of killing him. One down.

The remaining guard was visibly horrified: distracted.

Having practiced casting with new the hand-structure, I shot a hypothermal cloud out towards the Argonian. His shock might provide just enough of a delay to his reaction time to make it hit.

But he ducked before that, probably close enough to feel a sharp chill.

That didn't bode for killing him with magic. Even with a jaunty start to the battle, there was something to fear. I needed a few seconds to recharge, the spell expending about sixty percent of my magicka.

He was still protected by the cover. I was out in the opened.

Hopefully he'd give me another second.

...

I was recharged.

He emerged again, just in time.

I discharged frigid air immediately, not wanting to give him time to regroup. I then scrambled out of this spot incase he cast his own spell.

When I regained composure, I realized he'd ducked again. This position wouldn't work.

Then he shot up and released electricity. I instinctively dived to the side, utimately pressing myself against the roof, as the spell flew.

Again, I was unscathed, but so was he.

This would be a re-occurring pattern in the battle. I would never kill him like this, but _I_ could be ambushed by the others.

I gauged we were both out of magicka.

It was time to charge, though if I was wrong about his magicka, I'd bring myself just close enough to be a certain victim.

I got to my feet and put all my strength into moving forward. Pushing the new legs to their limit, hoping, once they'd accelerated, they'd grant me more speed, time was where all the hope lay. This was a deeply risky move. I'd dedicated myself to a narrow channel, where little was in my control and failure meant death.

But now having fully accelerated, it seemed I was not faster with the new legs. Knowing he was absorbing magicka in significant amounts every split second, I felt sluggish. My running contested his recharging. This is what I'd created by climbing here. Who was luck rooting for? Every step brought me closer to the point where I could send a claw into his skull, but also to where electricity could invade my body.

What if he was already charged, calculatingly holding his reserves to punish my stupidity? It was a dreadful thought, but I had no other choice; This was my path, and all I could do was hope fortune favored me.

I was so close.

A pace away.

He popped up!

He began lifting his hand just as I was swinging for a claw-strike. Trepidation exploded.

Cracking skull.

The ceremonial noise instantly thwarted his efforts to launch a shock spell which could have devastated me only an eighth of a second later.

The body fell limp from the impact of the now gored claw. Now it was just blackness for him, his opponent saved from such a fate.

My previous feelings started to dissolve, but it was too close for comfort.

I'd survived the first phase of this brave undertaking, but there were plenty up here still alive who wanted my blood. The worst part seemed to be over at least, though it was still humbling.

I was sweating, body engorged with adrenaline.

But now I had some cover. Now things would get easier.

I crawled into the fortification. There'd be a large row of hostiles in the southern towers, though only one post could target me at a time.

It was time to check out that area.

I popped up to look down the row of the guard-posts. The man at the front was clad in leather armor and armed with a crossbow, its tip staring at me, ready to fire.

I ducked, a quarter second later hearing the bolt get released. A brief silence, then the projectile furiously whizzed over my head.

But I'd have an opening while he reloaded.

I stood back up.

But he was gone, having taken cover.

I crouched back down. This would be a battle of wits, but their numbers meant I'd have to do much more than outsmart one man. There were no squad mates to back me up like in Elsweyr or Morrowind. I was a lone soldier, like in an old knight's tale but with real stakes and no assurance of victory. That was an intimidating thought.

The guard yelled something to his allies.

Maybe it would be better to get out of this tower. While I was here he knew where to expect me.

Yes, I'd leave.

I exited quickly back onto what was, for now, the only safe walkway to occupy.

Thankfully, the Legion's charge was getting ever closer**. **When they made it, the hostiles would have something else to shoot. However, it was my obligation to incapacitate as many enemies as possible until then.

I could anticipate the Argonian Royal Guards would soon try to gang up on me.

I primed for a hypothermal projection. My foes could come from almost any direction, given the shallow slant of the roof.

There was an air of paranoia. If they came from the south, I'd hear them, but they'd emerge close. If they came from the north, they'd be far, but I wouldn't know until they became visible.

My magicka stores were likely now full, but that only meant I could hope to take out no more than two in rapid succession even with a lot of finesse.

Argonians were yelling back and forth to each other in the north. Did that mean that was where they'd try to attack me from? Should I face that way?

But more could come from the south than the north.

Yet that meant my doom was more likely when I maintained proximity to the south wall.

I decided to get closer to the north. That also might throw them off.

I began running. But even with less enemies likely to come from the north, I predicted I would face multiple targets at once.

Might the new legs give me the ability to lunge at them? Should I try to experiment with that immediately?

Yes, better to delay my transit than gamble with that. As funny as it felt, I would experiment mid-battle.

I jumped forward, wondering if a long-jump was another enhancement keenen legs gave me.

Mid-way in the air, I knew the answer was no.

I landed.

_Damn._

There was my magic and my claws. That was it.

I got back to moving forward, mind buzzing with potential dangers from every location. They enjoyed the comfort of numbers. I didn't even enjoy the comfort of armor. A single hit anywhere, with any weapon, could mean my death.

I could feel my naked, fleshy vulnerability. My scaly flesh could be burned with magic or pierced with a bolt. They could emerge anywhere.

The wind was cold against my sweaty hair.

The Legion was close, but their progress still seemed to take hours in a time like this.

I was about three-quarters of the way the north tower. I'd go about half the remaining distance.

Someone was audibly running to the northwest corner. I stopped.

It sounded like one man. The confrontation might be easier than I'd expected.

He sounded close. Hopefully he hadn't heard me.

This was it, an impending reflex contest.

Then he stopped too, still out of sight.

A leathered head leaned into view. I quickly let lose my spell, sloppy but sufficient.

He pulled himself back, but it was too late. The edge of the brutally frigid cloud hit his eyes. Thank the Gods!

The Argonian screamed and stumbled back, holding that part of his face.

He went too far back and fell over the cover and off the roof with a descending yell. I'd won that one, but plenty more to go.

Thud.

Some moans followed by an almost whiny sounding report to his comrades which indicated he was still alive, but hopefully incapacitated.

Was another coming?

I stayed ready for the next emergence. There could be nothing around that corner, or there could be a mind just as primed as mine...and possibly more cunning.

My muscles were tight.

Gruelingly, the battle up here was mostly guess work.

Still nothing.

For all I knew, they'd already come around the south and were aiming at my six.

Then there was faint Argonian chatter from that direction. Would that be the next source of hostiles? Were there still others to the north?

The situation was too cruel to let me relax about either direction.

I could check around the corner, but maybe that's what some hiding northerner wanted: to hit me like I'd hit his ally.

Maybe I should reposition myself to the south.

Yes.

I unglued my gaze from that fateful corner and decided to turn and start dashing southward.

As I ran, I wondered if someone might lean out from where I'd detached my gaze and shoot my bare back. I felt a theoretical hard stare pressing on me from behind. I'd take precaution; I jumped to the side of the roof once and then back.

But all was silent to the north.

Currently, I was intact, but my life was fragile up here. I envied their numbers. I was playing hero, just like in a Ley Lerus production. This wasn't an order, not Standard Operating Procedure: it was a course of action of my own design, a call I hadn't the experience to predict the outcome of.

"Weeta, make sure the man who fell off the roof is dead!" barked an accented voice. The Legion! "Don't let him take us by surprise!" They must have made it to the western wall!

But would I still be the sentries' primary target?

I was about mid-way to the south end. At any time someone could pop up to shoot. Maybe all four of them would, or maybe someone from the north would.

This wouldn't be easy to survive.

But it hit me: my springy legs might make good shock absorbers. There was one quick exit to end this dangerous escapade and get into a blanket of protection: two stories straight down. If my new parts could propel me so high, it was a decent inference they could absorb shock too.

Devastation could await me either way. But even if the transformation didn't provide fall protection, it was better to have broken legs surrounded by friends than a bolt through the chest surrounded by enemies.

Yes, I'd do it. I'd jump, put myself in luck's hands again.

I turned right and hurled myself over the edge, crossing a daring line.

I was free falling, another test for the conversion of my lower half. Visible was a long row of the tops of Legionary heads, helmeted with some weird mahogany armor, their bodies all hugging or nearly hugging the wall.

Air rushing by, the swamp floor getting closer, I was soon to know what impact would bring, perhaps feel my first broken bones.

The ground was close. The answers were soon.


	44. Good Company

"With his broken legs, he was a pathetic predator..." - Smuggler's Island

Sun's Dusk 26, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): West Wall, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

The impact, feet driven deep into the ground.

Any broken bones?

No, my body was still in all its blessed tactness.

"Mara!" a younger Legionary cried. They couldn't have expected anything close to this, but my mostly human upper-body must have signaled this freak was on their side.

I stabilized myself. I'd escaped that scary roof and landed fine, all thanks to these new legs.

I turned, seeing them all wide eyed. Their uniforms were unlike anything most would ever associate with the Legion: scaled and mahogany colored. As expected, they were all Argonian. The Legionaries were mixed with tribals, men in little more than grass loin clothes, all unarmed (no doubt battle-mages), many with some kinds of bracelets or necklaces. The natives' arms had wing-like growths, and their legs looked Morrowindi, just like the man who'd been made into a target dummy. I also noticed Soch-Eena. The officer I'd heard before spoke, "You're the investigator we sent, aren't you!? What the hell happened to you!?" He was no doubt referring to my new anatomy.

"I was..."

"On second thought, nevermind! Tell us what we're dealing with up there!" Though it felt a bit degrading to be cut off so abruptly, it was a nice testament to race relations in the Emprie that an Imperial could be ordered around by an Argonian like that.

I replied, "I'm not sure. I think one will approach from the north and four from the south." But now that I was in a big crowd, such a prospect was much less threatening.

He didn't respond, just turned to look at the roof.

I decided to put my eyes on the south.

Then something was filling the space between the cover and walkway: feet.

"Watch out!" I cried.

Three rose from cover, two mages and a crossbow wielder firing at our soldiers and visa-versa, me aiming at a mage.

I heard at least one friendly crumple to the ground. "Eeka Shash!" But then an arrow pierced the inner chin of my target, and someone else's frost ball smacked the other wizard in the face.

The crossbow-man had managed to duck back safely, though.

"One more!" a Nibenean Legionary cried. The one left was armored, meaning nothing but a shot to the face would be effective with my spell.

He must have been reluctant to stand up, though, after his two comrades died.

There was some groaning from area, probably a victim of an ocular frost burn. Magic may have been seen as sissy to those with a merely superficial understanding of modern combat, but it was far more brutal than steel when it was effective.

Still, there was stagnancy visually.

Then the hostile popped up, crossbow pointed at an unseen target and fired. I casted my own reserves.

But it seemed on course to miss. An odd looking ball of dense fog hit him in the face first, knocking him down.

It must have been tribal magic the remainder of Tamriel hadn't yet learned.

The Legionaries didn't react to the alien magic. Maybe the tribals had already explained it.

Would he get up?

He seemed to have lost consciousness.

There was just the noise of the swamp now. How many guards were left...One to the north and one to the south, but they seemed to be holding back. Maybe they'd decided it was unwise to confront us. That was intuitive, after the other three were killed.

I decided to glance at our line.

One of Legionaries was crumpled on the ground, a bolt in his head and his sword laying on the swamp floor. Another was an unarmed tribal, looking like the mortal victim of a 'Drain Health' spell.

Then there was some running from the ground to the north: one pair of feet, not subtle enough to be hostile. I turned to that direction to see one of ours coming around the corner. "He's dead, sir," the Argonian accented soldier said. I realized he was referring to the one I'd made stumble off the walkway.

Suddenly came enemy chatter from the eastern towers. Our superior officer could probably understand, but he'd no doubt wait until the conversation was over, or something really important was said, to tell us what their words meant.

I heard one of our spell victims speak, voice pushed through anguish.

There was another pause. An eastern one spoke again.

Again came a pause, and then the pained Argonian pushed out more words.

There was silence.

The bugs chirped.

Was that the end of the conversation?

Cyrodiillic broke the air. "The two able-bodied guards are considering pulling back into the building. You can bet your tails the palace is getting locked down," the officer, a likely Lieutenant, said. The face of the battle was about to change.

Then the foreign language came again. Then came a curt statement and a similar response.

Then there was muteness once more.

Next it sounded like someone was pounding on wood.

Information was being collected by our highest officer, but until there was a long silence, it would not be presented to us.

"What'd they say now?" one of the Nibanean accented troops asked.

"They're just telling them they want to get in. They're going to seal all the guard-tower doors for a lock-down."

Of course, lock-downs didn't stop the Legion, who always brought along a battering ram or lockpick. The fight was about to be taken indoors. Quick, guttural, chaotic battles awaited us. Fortunately, the battlemages always had an excuse to hang back. It would be about the swordsmen next.

"They must be setting up a perimeter now, sir," an Argonian accented person said. "I think the earlier we charge in the better."

Likely the presumed Lieutenant would agree.

"The bastards on the roof had to knock for entrance. There's a good chance they've been preparing for us for a little while. They'll likely have stacked their defenses by the time we breach a door."

Not the response I expected. Were we in some sort of predicament? The Lieutenant seemed to be brooding.

"Soch-Eena," he called sharply, "check for any good entry points! Provide some degree of recon with your Detect Life spell!"

* * *

(**Fights-up-close**): Outside the Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

Assassin training was about to play a key role in a military operation, but that wasn't the most ironic form of synergy in this offensive.

"While she does that," the Legionary continued, "**Day-Dreams**, you check the basement for any life at the door!"

I didn't even have to move yet. I would check for life behind this area of the wall first, especially near the windows.

I let my mind run unhinged. The sense of structure in the world dissipated, leaving only the faith I could accomplish this solid.

Two purple blobs formed, both pressed like statues against either side of the alchemy-room window.

I shifted my gaze to another window; there were two more standing similarly. No viable entry points. I let go of the spell.

Re-embracing logic, analysis poured in: it seemed they might be guarding all the windows, since there were guards by the alchemy and medical room ones.

Still, an assumption wouldn't be very helpful here.

I broke out of the line and moved forward to continue my methodical search for an entry-point. I passed the alchemy room, passed the adjacent Legion swordsmen, passed the battlemages of Cyrodiillic and tribal Argonian stock, passed the medical room window, and then stopped, out of my previous radius.

I let go of the concepts of sequence and superiority again.

Two more were flanking the practice window, and one was...where? I couldn't figure it out without over-engaging reason.

I let go of the 'temporary insanity' to recall the room where the last one resided, mentally mapping it out...

...the armory.

Now it was clear that guarding windows was a standard procedure for them if the palace was being threatened by invasion. Still, did they have enough soldiers for every possible entry?

The next window was quite a distance, and it was past a door. Almost definitely the door would be more heavily guarded than the window, so I wouldn't bother checking that.

I started heading to that area, the one north of the dining patio.

There had been a lot of guards in the palace, but I gauged not enough to cover every obvious entry with two soldiers. Maybe. But finding a chink in their armor still seemed very possible.

I changed directions to circumvent the steps to the sub-terranean level.

"Two hostiles at the basement door!" **Day-Dreams** called.

"Resume position and stand by, soldier," the Lieutenant replied.

But as I was getting close the wooden flooring of outdoor dining area, that literal window of opportunity thinly visible ahead, I once again started to reflect on the fact I was handing this province to the Empire.

The only evidence I had of their evil was that Eastern provinces book, but I still lacked evidence of their good.

There was their fight against slavery in Morrowind.

But that was coupled with an effort to maintain it in the past.

My feet were on the planks now.

The Legion's line didn't extend this far, but behind me were the warriors whose battle this task would shape. These armored men would soon march freely across Argonia, for better or worse.

A sufficient observation point was not far.

I was there.

I could think later: It was time to let go of logic again.

Back in the chaotic mode of thought, there were two blobs, in that familiar pose, beside the western window. An additional two were by the north one. And, of course, there'd be hostiles at the door. I let go of the spell.

But then the chink in their armor gleamed: the north window provided the perfect angle to shoot the inevitable defenders at the door!

It looked like I'd found the ideal entry point. I was crafting the future of this storm, twenty-five lives somewhat in my hands.

Now to get an idea of how many guards were at that aperture. I turned in that direction and went back into Detect Life mode.

Order parting, the world just flowing colored dots, I saw a heavy cluster of people, five individuals, guarding that door.

I disengaged the spell.

Those guards would disperse when they got shot at, providing a nice, soft way in.

Still, was the door barricaded? That was one more thing to check. If so, entering that way would require the Legionares to go back to 'camp' and get the battering ram. I just needed to look through the north window, and with some careful angling I wouldn't be seen.

Walking forward, it was nice that I was, unlike the enemy, afforded free movement.

But I _wasn't_ afforded the conviction I was on the right side I had in youth, even as I consistently poured more moral confidence in the imperial soldiers.

A bit of black fuzz, an insect, danced around my eye. I shooed it.

I turned the corner, now out of sight of any Legionaries and in view of the north window.

After making it there I positioned myself at the correct angle, looking into the territory we might enter the palace through.

Enemies were heavily clustered around the door, with spears and swords of Elven and Dwarven origin. It was hard to see through them, but from what little openings their pack provided it didn't look like the door was barricaded.

Now I was ready to tell our leader about my plan, though it was a bad idea to yell as some of the Argonian Royal Court personnel understood Cyrodiillic. I'd go all the way back.

This former Shadowscale began walking. This intelligence gathering service would soon provide help to the very people I'd been told to despise in childhood.

Rounding the corner brought our troops, of two nations, back in view.

I hoped that unity would last, and just barely believed it was more than superficial.

I wanted to earnestly bond with the soldiers, but for now such was impossible since I still regarded them with some suspicion; only past experience of learning the truth about the Dark Brotherhood, whom the Legion had tried to eliminate, allowed me to give them a chance.

But my views regarding them had softened dramatically given the time spent with them. I hoped dearly I had been as wrong about them in youth as about my former family; then I could settle more contently in the overworld.

I walked over the wooden patio. The palace wall was orange in the sunset, striped with the shadows of trees.

I passed many faces. Each one had their own childhood, adolescence, parents, and birthplace, and the same was true of those inside the castle.

Returning to soft ground, the idea these soldiers could become Argonia's enemies nagged me. After all, there seemed like less reason for the author of that Eastern provinces book to lie than the Argonian Royal Court.

Whenever I felt love or admiration for someone or something, a reflexive doubt was always there to drag me back down. It was a product of my defection, as a year ago my heart swelled with pride at the words 'Dark Brotherhood.' Now those words reflected a pitch-black youth.

Then I realized how close I was to the Lieutenant. He was looking at me expectantly.

"Report, agent," he commanded.

Nothing had proved I shouldn't support them, unless I was going to live by a book.

"There's an opportunity for entrance at the northwest, the north window of the dining hall." As the words poured out, I felt the contribution I was making: probably moving souls closer to the states they deserved, but possibly the opposite. "The window is guarded, but provides an angle with which to shoot anyone at the door. They haven't barricaded the door either. If we can take them out, we should have a clear way in."

Lieutenant **Plays-Rough** shifted his eyes down pensively. I was blind to most military complexities, so maybe the plan hadn't been as clever as it seemed.

Should I be helping them at all? A book said no, but personal experience said yes; the latter was more valuable.

Right?

Personal experience doesn't lie, and it can't be sold for money...

He continued thinking.

Then he looked up.

"An entrance through the dining hall might pull some of their forces from the other doors, and twenty-five soldiers going through one way seems like overcrowding." He was callously taking into account our two losses. "If we can send twelve of these boys over to the _front_ door, waiting just long enough for them to realize they can't contain our influx in the dining hall, we can burst through the south and catch them from behind!" Most of my input was still intact. Maybe the proposition was valuable.

"What if they don't move, sir?" the Gideoni sounding Corporal asked.

"Then you go to the dining hall and reinforce us as a second wave!" the leader said confidently. Now we had a solid plan thanks to me, and so far the stacks of reason told me that was a good thing.

But where would an assassin fit in during its execution?

"Soch-Eena," he said, right on cue, "you can try to inflitrate through the gym door or its nearest counterpart. If it's barricaded or they don't pull back, you have permission to sit this one out." They were even letting me not participate in the raid?

However, he wasn't familiar enough with the structure of the palace or Shadowscale training to realize that a balcony and wall run provided another enterance.

"My training should afford me the ability to infiltrate the second floor through a balcony. What do you say I enter there?" I asked. Wall running had been useful in Gideon assignments.

The man looked down pensively, almost holding his snout in thought. I knew that wasn't necessarily a sign of rejection now, though.

If he accepted, all our talents would work toghether in what was seeming ever more like a righteous cause.

"High ground is naturally advantageous, and it would spread our forces out. And if any of them are fortified upstairs, they'll be easy targets for stealth kills. But I suspect the overwhelming majority will be downstairs..."

He considered his verdict.

"Alright. That sounds like a better plan."

I had an important role in this it seemed, a quiet little dagger hidden behind the distracting storm of magicka and steel.

"Everyone north of me, head to the window west-most on the north side and start working on the men guarding the door! Everyone south, go to the main entrance! Soch-Eena, up a balcony!"

And then boots started pounding the forest floor again as we all trotted to our expected positions.


	45. Raid

"Education and wealth is broadly distributed through all social classes where Imperial culture has flourished; many citizens are literate and protected under Imperial law." - Savant's Notes on Vvardenfell

Sun's Dusk 26, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Near Front Door, Argonian Royal Palace

* * *

Weetum-Ja was picking the lock to the front door, entrance to the mudroom. The guards were behind the next one. The mudroom would be the ante-chamber, then would be the next phase of the battle.

The click broke the air, an appetizer for what was to come.

We all began piling in, me making it just between the indoors and outdoors, closer to the back of the group.

Weetum-Ja began staring at, or through, the next door to monitor the life on the other side. Once he saw them move away, it would be kicked open and the interior half of the battle would begin.

Anticipation streamed through my insides.

Then slashing and screaming faint in the distance indicated our forces had breached the dining hall. Our moment was coming as soon as the hostiles on the other side of this door pulled back.

The enemies must have been terrified that their dwelling had been invaded by twelve men. Soon they'd discover it was twice that many and they were surrounded.

Any second now they should pull back.

Yells and clashing steel continued.

In a blur Weetum-Ja's foot shot forward. The door cracked hard against the wall.

We were in.

The swordies started rushing forward to assault the unaware guards to the left. The hostiles turned around, shock-faced, as they met their Cyrodiillic opponents.

The rest of my comrades were moving towards the right.

I crossed through the entrance way, following behind two tribal battle mages.

A cross-bow bolt impaled one. His body fell to reveal the man who'd done the job and his two partners, who still had bolts ready to shoot. That sent me into a high alert for the same fate.

Scrambling to the side, bolts whizzed by me: This was already proving intense.

I shot hypothermal air at one of the targets and without caring to see the results I ran a bit westward, wanting to get away from this vulnerable position before anything else.

My pay back for their attempt to kill me had been weak, but they'd have plenty of others to deal with.

When I'd made it to a safer area, I glanced back those who were the last to enter, the archers. A chucked spear impaled one's neck, the entrance a cutting board. At least I was past it, and soon the rest would be; then the overwhelming majority of the fear would be in our enemies.

But there were very audible pounding feet approaching! I whipped around to see a wide-eyed face reeling back to jab me with a spear. A burst of fear accompanied my survival reflexes.

I jumped to the side. I grabbed the weapon a half second later, turning his confidence. He furiously tried to swing me off it, putting us now in a visceral torrent. I was barely able to keep from falling as I was pushed and pulled.

Then came a split second where I could kick him in the gut.

My foot shot into his leather-armored belly just before I was thrown ungracefully to the ground for surrendering one leg to an ambition besides standing.

Now we were both on the floor, my new leg muscles seeming to have strengthened my kick. Plus, I realized I had his armament now. I rotated the point to face his direction.

He began to push himself up, probably to run. Was it ethical to chuck the spear at him? Was it tactical?

An arrow in his neck mooted that question. He fell on his face, luck having been merciless to him.

As I stood back up the air was thick with screams and casting and clashing and arrows pegging themselves into flesh and wood.

Then came the sound of close feet again! I turned: a guard was coming to decapitated me with a Dwarven sword! He swung and I viciously ducked, feeling the intense gust of wind overhead in a poignantly close call.

I stabbed him with the spear, turning the tables, then withdrew the weapon.

He dropped the sword to grab his throat, metal clattering to the ground. He fell to his knees.

That was another score for the good guys in this hive of matches.

But that was another close call. This battle had brought far more scares than expected. I was shaken by the visits of death, cold sweat in my armpits and hair.

But the noise had largely died down. I could hear one lone sword fight. Clashing steel. Then a shriek. Then a thud. An enemy or a friend down.

Then this area seemed quieter. A good guy won that one.

"Move up!" someone yelled.

Imperial boots began pounding ahead. The sounds of battle were mostly concentrated in the distance.

I got up, with a feeling of adrenaline and some morbid reflection on how close death'd come. What a storm.

Dead bodies, mostly enemy but with one Legion corpse in view, littered the immediate error.

There would be more to deal with, no doubt, and I didn't like this weapon one bit. A sword is what the Legion trained this soldier with.

There were plenty of swords on the ground.

I dropped the spear and picked up the Dwemer sword from my last victim, who'd passed out. The Argonian Royal Court used expensive gear and now I was in possession of something better than the standard Legion equipment.

But at this point I was somewhat behind the group, just at the rear of the last archer, so I didn't waste a second getting back with them.

I had to step over many bodies, thankfully mostly enemies. I didn't even try avoiding the puddles of blood. Red footprints evidenced others ahead had done the same. Few soldiers today had ever seen a raid like this.

I'd expected this to be an easy battle. Perhaps I should have known the Argonian Royal Court wouldn't let go of their main bastion without fighting tooth and nail.

Yet now I realized no more fighting could be heard. The bad guys remaining were probably taking defensive positions at doors or at the tops of stair cases.

I turned the corner to get through the narrow hall between the kitchen and the meeting room.

The other boots seemed to have stopped somewhere between the auditorium and bathhouse. The platoon was regrouping, perhaps putting together another plan.

Back into the wide, lobby-like hall, I saw most of my allies were huddled toghether, with a tribal watching the back flank.

The archers ahead of me stopped, trying to squeeze their way into the circle. Then I did, too.

Our Lieutenant was speaking in a low voice.

The officer gave a brief glance of acknowledgement to me then said, "Recap, soldiers: the plan is I, Ah-Marz, Steel-Eyes, Chiwanz, Bie, Aruiz, and Reesaka mop up down here. The rest of you are under the command of Sargeant Jeelaha, and Sargeant Inius if Jeelaha falls." _Inius._ An Argonian with an 'Imperial' name, I liked that. "You deal with the resistance on the top floor, heading up through the north stair case. Chiwanz, Bie, zejo eet iz sheenak heiuriz, zeabo Jeelaha heiuriz."

Then the formation broke up into its discussed groups. I fluently moved with my unit, but had my mind a bit stuck in the close calls by the entrance. Still, a breather wouldn't be appropriate in circumstances like this: it would give the enemy time to prepare their defenses.

It sounded like my group was getting the harder job: we had to assault the enemy's higher ground.

Our division turned passed the bathing hall. Almost definitely the hostiles on the next floor would be waiting for us at the top of the two-part staircase. Dark anticipation flowed through my viens. I predicted we'd lose at least one more man before making it to the next floor.

"Geeneeus and Oweel will take point," said the Nibenean Sergeant. The battle-mage Oweel and crossbow-wielder Geeneeus moved to the front of the group. They were going to be the ones staring into the eyes of advantaged enemies. I was one of the majority, the lucky ones...for now at least.

This cluster of soldiers turned the final corner, and then stairs were in view.

"Stop," said our superior officer. "Geeneeus, Oweel, see if they're waiting for us on the top of the stairs. Shoot if they are."

The unlucky two looked at each other. Their expressions were distressed, but we all knew they would do their duty. Then they began back-pedaling to check the top of the stairs. If hostiles were there, a lot would be unleashed when they crossed into their line of sight.

They passed threshold.

Projectiles whizzed both ways. Oweel's skull was pierced with a bolt. He crumpled to the ground, life snatched instantly, like Cicero's. But the Geeneeus back out of the area quick enough. One of two dead. Fifty-fifty chance of survival. That area was a far worse crucible than the main entrance.

Yet there was yelling in Argonian, so one of their men was probably hit as well, albeit not dead. At least three others seemed to remain intact up there, however.

"Jeelen, replace Oweel, try that routine again." Thank the Gods they hadn't picked me. Still, such fortune was hard to relish in, given it didn't apply to one of my brothers in cause.

"Sir, they may reinforce the stairway if we do not act quickly. I suggest we charge," a voice confident and similarly accented enough to be Inius suggested. That would be less grueling than having someone's named 'picked out of a hat' to die.

"When we hear the reinforcements running in, then we charge. Until that, we maintain this strategy. Understood?" Jeelaha said coldly. I thought of my ability to jump: my legs should be able to bolt me up just high enough to get a swipe at their critical areas.

Jeelen started moving his way through the crowd, past me. Could this freak save him by stepping up?

But would jumping at them really be a better approach than shooting them? Thinking of my target profile, it didn't seem so.

As Jeelen got close to the line with Geeneeus, I knew it was better to just be grateful it wasn't me.

The Sergeant barked their order, and they did the same routine.

The exchange happened again. This time, electricity hit Geeneeus in the left arm, knocking him out. Jeelen managed to get away.

"Jeelaha, that's two of ours!" castigated Inius.

"It'll be four more if we follow your plan. They have the higher ground, you shouldn't have expected this to be easy, Inius." Jeelaha replied, a wisp of frustration passing through his otherwise level tone. The tension of battle was starting to spill over.

Jeelaha recomposed himself. "We need to keep up the pace! Long-tail, you're -" But he was cut off by a cry from the spot the enemies were. There was another scream and a thud followed by frantic running, and a seemingly missing electro-spell. We had a mysterious savior!

"Forward everyone!" Jeelaha immediately said in response to the welcome surprise. We immediately piled ahead, taking advantage of the gap in the enemy's defenses.

My feet hit the steps, the friendlies in front of me still intact.

An Imperial battle-mage was hit with electricity on his armored back, causing him to fall on his face and nearly tripping the man behind him. But then it sounded like the hostile mage was hit with another's lightening.

I made it up the first set, onto the bit of level territory in-between. There was a little more fighting above, but no one remained right at the top of the stairs.

I winded up to the second half the steps, hearing a cry of pain and a fall.

The friendlies ahead of me seemed fine.

I made it to the top, the level we'd strived for.

The hostiles were all down, that mysterious savior allowing us to breach.

Ahead were two dead guards, and one of our swordsmen with an Elven arrowhead in his intestine, still alive, but curled up on the floor.

"Hal! Tend to Geetun's wounds, on the double! Long-tail, Jeelen, stay here with him! The rest of you, follow me to remove the rest of the forces on the second floor! Lees zejo, eet heuiriz!" At least now we'd face the rest on a literally level playing field, not such an intimidating prospect after what I'd survived.

Jeelaha turned west. But then we heard Soch-Eena's voice: "I took out the guard by the South-Eastern stairs. I don't think you have anyone else to worry about on this floor." We turned to see she'd stepped around from the corner. She was the savior! It made perfect sense.

The anticipation had been almost comically snatched form the situation, which had left the Sergeant briefly speechless, but he finally said, "Commendably done, Soch-Eena. I'm going to assume you were the one to help us with these stairs too."

She didn't answer, as perhaps it wasn't a question.

So that meant, as warriors, we were alone up here: no more opposition to worry about.

Our combative instincts were permitted to fade completely.

That shifted my attention to our wounded brother.

Hal was in the messy process of dealing with the light wound sustained by the Argonian. Jeelaha remained silent on the matter, so apparently there was no place for others to help.

The many Argonian Royal Court non-combatants were still isolating themselves in various auxiliary rooms. Would we start rounding them up now? Would we disarm the unconscious bad guys? The lower floor was essentially silent for the moment. What next? Would we--

"What are your orders from this point, sir?" Inius asked.

"Stay up here incase any of them try to retreat to higher ground," Jeelaha said simply. "We'll move to whatever staircase we hear a disturbance."

So it wasn't officially over, but the remaining enemies were merely hypothetical. Hypothetical and very unlikely.

A soldier wiped his brow of sweat.

Almost definitely this hideout for evil had been pacified, tens of guards put down by tens of Legionaries. A sanctuary of mischief had come under Imperial control.

Hal was finishing dressing the wound.

Since the current orders were just to wait for nearly absurd threats, the danger seemed loose enough to permit conversation. I started:

"So, how are we dealing with the way back? Are you sure there'll be enough cure for everyone?"

"Completely, Fidelis," he said. "The palace discovered we had 'the cure' all along."

What? How could that be. Did I really posses such a mountain of ignorance?

"Why...how did the Imperial Legion, or the government or whatever, have the cure all along?"

Being cooped up in the Central Swamps had quite an effect beyond my physical freedom.

"The cure to the Knahaten Flu is the same stuff that cures the Thrassian Plague. Your friend Soch-Eena told you that, right?" he asked, half rhetorically.

"Yeah..." But did that mean they'd found a cure to the Thrassian Plague?

"How do you think they curbed the disease after they dealt with the Sload in the First Era? They got the cure from their island chain, brought it back, and gave it to the Tamrielics. The palace kept some specimens incase it happened again. They secretly studied them and replicated them. Now they have enough samples to fill a warehouse. There's even one for you."

The solution to the long obstacle of Black Marsh's environment was right under our noses the whole time! Wow! This expedition sure had unveiled a mound of unrealized truths!

But that made something not quite add up...

"So then why did the government send an all Argonian force?" I said, feeling a tad awkward at the mention of race.

"Tribesmen in the central swamps don't take kindly to your type, remember?" That awkwardness was thrown right back. "With luck, we'll change that, even if we have to do it gradually," he said. His choice of words was heart-warming.

But the Sload, what would happen to them now that they were likely implicated in plotting to spread the plague? Would a holocaust really find its way into modern times at the hands Tamriel's highest authorities?

"What about the Sload? What were they planning and what's the Empire going to do about them?"

It would seem like a brash solution to commit another genocide, but a necessary evil, perhaps...

"The Sload were planning to send the plague onto mainland Tamriel when things got hotter. The council launched a pre-emptive invasion. Now they've got the isles occupied."

Occupied. No genocide. That was comforting. Everything was coming together far better than I'd expected.

"So they're letting some of them live this time..." I said. It was very welcome this was all so easy. There was no gray morality necessary, apparently.

"Maybe against their better judgement. Thras is going to become an Imperial province."

An Imperial province! I'd be behind spreading the light to a whole other race. This was truly revolutionary! The world flowed around me, caressing my spirit, bringing me bliss.

The lower floor was still quiet, except for some walking from our allies below.

One of our soldiers sneezed.

"Bless you," another said.

Would we all just depart from this palace once the remainder of the Argonian Royal Court employees were secured, let it be temporarily deserted?

"So, is this entire platoon going to leave the palace, or are some of us going to stay behind?" They might have been planning and talking about this for days, and I hadn't even heard the tip of it.

"We can't leave a building like this unattended in the middle of a hot zone, Fidelis," he replied, slightly condescendingly. "We'll sort out the details later."

Even with the blessed peace ahead, there'd still be a lot to do.

Hal was helping Geetun to his feet.

Soon this installation would be ours, not just somewhere we could stand securely in, but something we would make use of.

It now seemed implicit the battle was over. There'd be troves of non-combatants to deal with, but such duties were at worst a little tedious.

The risks were done. The battle was complete. My long, tough, bumpy, adventuresome, stressful ride of a mission was won.

I, Densius Fidelis, would go back to Cyrodiil a man of success and prosperity, and be responsible for two more provinces in the Empire's embrace. I couldn't imagine a better scenario.


	46. Old Place, New Man

A/N: Keep in mind, I'm imagining the Market District and bridge being a lot bigger than they were in the game.

* * *

"Like the diamond in the center of the Amulet of Kings, Cyrodiil is the heart of the Septim Empire and Tamriel. Still largely forested and almost landlocked, the beauty of the land has been sung of since time immemorial." - Pocket Guide to the Empire, Third Edition

Evening Star 1, 4E1

(Densius Fidelis): Market District, Imperial City

* * *

Today was a crystal clear day, the bustling market so alien after being trapped in that sanctuary in the swamps for so long. None of these people were enemies to deceive. I could relax, be true, not plan in silence. It was a notion I was just starting to settle into again.

It felt like I'd spent a year in that bog, away from the stone buildings, cool climate, and lively commerce. It was good to be home.

Sixteen of our allies were still back at that hideout, mostly the one's who'd lost friends in the battle. They'd stayed behind to bury the dead and guard the area until reinforcements arrived. The building was now under control of the Imperial Legion and several Keseepa tribe battlemages. They seemed comfortable with each other. That was a hopeful sign for Black Marsh's future.

On the other hand, three Legionaries: Jeelen, Deechana, and Inius, accompanied Soch-Eena and I to Cyrodiil to meet with Giovanni Civello, as was planned, to report on the results.

I was still a freak from the experiments the Argonian Royal Court had done. Though we'd given some thought to reverse engineering the transformation, we decided it too risky to change back before the Cyrodiillic government understood more about the Hist sap. While this transformed body was a god-send for leaving the Central Swamps, as it watered down the humanness of my appearance, it proved a huge weight in Cyrodiil. We'd taken a ridiculously baggy robe from the palace to cover my feral hands and the form of my legs in the civilized world, but it made travel a drag, and staying at inns had left me largely eating in the room; I didn't want to show my claws in public. I looked like an idiot in such high-class yet unfitting drapery. Still, at least it was in the company of four who understood those troubles.

Regardless, the best of life would come after I fixed myself. I'd be famous, interviewed for magazines and written about in history books. And the best of the lives of many business men, Cyrodiillic and Argonian, were ahead of them too; inner Black Marsh was virgin territory.

Jeelen cracked his knuckles.

"Don't be the last to read today's Black Horse Courier!" I heard the faceless yell through the crowd. We'd all been curious about the news, Jeelen and Inius making conversation with the publicans.

We kept walking forward, knowing one of ours, probably Jeelen, would ask now that the short man on the corner was in view.

Jeelen gave an assertive wave. "Hey, we'll take one!"

The Imperial's face zipped towards us, and he held it out as Jeelen came to him. There were probably a lot of people trying to get the courier today.

Jeelen got close enough and took the paper. Immediately after, we turned the corner, heading in the direction of the Imperial Legion Headquarters.

The Argonian looked down at the newsletter as he walked. In this part of the road there were less people so he didn't need to look up much. He began reading it aloud. "New Emperor Coronated. Special Edition! High Chancellor Ludovicius Ocato Appointed for Three Year Term! Takes Swift Action to Defend Imperial Interests!" He said the words with facetious bombasticness.

"In a close Elder Council vote, High Chancellor Ludovicius Ocato, an Altmer native to Cyrodiil known for his courageous service in the Imperial Legion and no-nonsense statesmanship, was appointed Emperor for a three year term." And to think how interwoven I'd been in those events! It was my arrest and my expeditionary mission with Soch-Eena that allowed him to ascend.

"The Cyrodiillic government has largely had its hands tied since the death of Uriel Septim VII. The sacred limitations on the Elder Council set in ancient law gave them access to only minor governmental powers, and no Emperor existed to control the greater tier. But now that a new man has risen to the throne, all the tools to protect the people of Tamriel are now at the palace's disposal!" A new day was rising in Mundus. There was a whole Era of potential ahead of us, and soon Cyrodiil would be lifted from the dark skepticism seen in so many.

"Emperor Ocato has taken swift action to fix post Oblivion Crisis obstacles. Cyrodiil's gracious new leader's first order of business was to disbanden the blasphemously named 'Knights of the Nine', a criminal organization which exploited the Chapel Murders to gain sway over the citizens of Cyrodiil using lies and misdirection." I'd seen them, seen the Legion afraid to deal with them, and now I'd, indirectly, disbandened them.

"The new Emperor has also begun to organize troop movements to reinforce the Empire's noble efforts in Morrowind and Elsweyr, to keep the forces of tyranny and barbarity at bay!" Now those quagmires I'd participated and lost friends in might finally be eased.

"But most importantly, after organizing an expedition responsible for amazing discoveries in Black Marsh, Ludovicius Ocato has ordered the first venture of expansion into the central swamps of Argonia since the failed attempts of Empress Hestra in the middle of the First Era! Claiming that Imperial forces are now aware of how to deal with the Khnahaten Flu, a deadly disease which long kept Cyrodiil's noble intentions constrained, Ludovicius Ocato says they expect the province to be fully integrated into the Empire within eight years!" This was truly the birth of a great new age!

"But Black Marsh is not the only province to be added to the glorious Empire! Since a plot to flood Tamriel with a well-known ancient plague was discovered in the Thrassian Isles, Emperor Ocato has launched a mission to annex the kingdom of the Sload, to keep the people of Tamriel forever safe from any nefarious schemes of disaster that might be launched from that territory and to bring the light of the Nine to the Slugmen." And I, Densius Fidelis, was largely to credit for it.

"Can the strained economy handle Ocato's ambitious agenda? Will Cyrodiils grow weary of the wars the former Chancellor has so valiantly dedicated himself to fighting? Only time will tell, but we believe all citizens agree they are blessed to once again have an Emperor in the throne." Jeelen had finished just as cheesy as he'd started, but that didn't make the words any less poignant for me.

The Argonian got back to gazing straight ahead.

For a little while I'd forgotten about this goofy robe and the animal parts it hid.

We were a bit less than half way to the portal to the bridge.

Children could be heard playing somewhere behind us.

Inius cleared his throat.

Still no one had thought up an idea for conversation.

I was content to contemplate in silence, though. It was probably what I'd be doing a lot of with these secret body parts.

But then a recollection hit: the charm bracelet! That was something I was probably expected to bring back!

Still, it would return to the Legion's possession, being it was still in the palace.

It was better I never see it again, anyway. It carried some uncomfortable memories.

Jeelen broke the silence. "Any of you guys ever been to Gro-Nagok's Table here?" It sounded familiar, but I rarely ate out.

The silence implied the answers from everyone.

"No," Deechana actually said.

Behind us, a horse drawn carriage clapped and clacked towards the Arena district.

"Orcish food. Real good. There's a nice Hammerfelli restaraunt near it too." Hammerfelli food, now _that_ brought back some good memories.

"Eating out's gotta be expensive with the sugar shortage, though," Deechana commented. Sugar, Elsweyr, Dune: a fleeting glimpse of lost friends.

Jeelen shrugged, "If you do it every day you ruin the experience, but I bet people can still afford to indulge now and then."

The sugar shortage had caused a noticeable effect on food prices, and of course was a juicy target for Fourth Era Pundit types to claim as the reason for the military being in Elsweyr.

Then Jeelen added, "I don't know how anyone could choose to live anywhere but this city," with a sort of fresh satisfaction. It was easy enough to do so when you were an introvert like I used to be, but for everyone else he had a point; the Imperial City had about ten places to spend money for every one place in Skingrad.

We were close to the stairs. The door ahead was flanked by some of our Legion brethren, but they had no idea the things this odd crowd had seen. This ridiculous robe would 'raise an eyebrow', though.

Trotting down the steps, I wondered what they'd think of us.

We hit the lower level.

Jeelen tried to crack his knuckles again, but got no results.

Soon would be my second meeting with the head of the Legion. Things sure had changed for me.

We went through the portal to the bridge.

Now we were outside, away from the city and bustling commerce.

The 'Prison District' looked like a palace ahead. It w_as_ where our order's king resigned, and where Soch-Eena and I would be bestowed with our promised treasures.

"So, how do you all think the public's going to take an Emperor who doesn't have the Dragon Blood?" Jeleen threw out for us. It was the biggest uncertainty in an otherwise beautiful future.

I provided some input: "Didn't that happen before? I thought I read something about it." The Elder Council gave that Emperor a hard time if memory served, but it didn't destroy the Empire.

"I never studied history," Jeelen replied, simple and blunt. He seemed to take on politics without a care in the world, which seemed like it should be odd for a soldier.

A light breeze blew westward.

Jeelen decided to keep the conversation rolling, "Any of you ever been here before? I mean, besides you Fidelis." It seemed he was referring to the Imperial City. Jeelen was from the Waterfront originally, but had managed to move up a notch in the world and now had a home in the Elven Garden's district. Deechana was from Bravil. Inius was from a town North of Leyawiin called Blankenmarch.

Inius stated, "It was typical of my family to travel here to visit my aunt in the Temple District every couple of years."

A bird cawed.

"What about the Waterfront? Ever seen that shithole I grew up in?" he asked with a bit of a laugh.

"No," Deechana said.

I responded, "I arrested someone there once. A young theif." He was a Khajiit, specifically.

"Any of you believe that Gray Fox shit?" he then asked, apparently having taken a momentary liking to the word 'shit.'

"Heard the name, but I don't know much about him," Deechana said.

"There's little word of him outside the cities," Inius stated.

Jeelen said, "You hear about him all the time if you live _here_, especially on the Waterfront. Probably would have heard more about him if I weren't a black sheep back there."

I noticed Jeelen hadn't answered his own question. _Whatever._

We were close to the portal to the Imperial Legion headquarters. No guards flanked the door, but it's not like such is necessary when they have their greatest base behind it.

This was my second meeting with the Legion commander. I had certainly taken on a grandoise existence.

We passed through the giant doors.

Now we were back in an enclosed 'district', but this one was special; This was where our entire army radiated from, the organization which would soon pour light into the darkest corners of Tamriel.

We pounded down the signature steep steps of this district's entrance. We hit the cobble-stone ground.

Giovanni Civello's office was the first one on the left. It was odd to think of the Legion Commander, the most powerful officer in the world, was mingling with all the low ranking rabble. I'd originally pictured him in the palace, but no, he was here, with all ranks of men, right near a prison and a training area.

The meeting was scheduled for five-thirty, so a simple knock would let him know who it was. This was my second encounter with Commander Civello, but my first in his natural habitat.

We stopped in front of the door and Jeelen knocked.

Behind us, a soldier was practicing magic.

I heard the door get unlocked. Then it was pulled opened.

Commander Civello.

Giovanni gave us a husky, toothy, warm grin and gestured us towards a bunch of seats. Eight total, two rows of four, three would be empty.

We all walked forward. His desk had a bottle of ale and some papers on it. There was a sword leaning against it and a painting of rugged Colovia hanging above it, which is where I had presumed he hailed from.

The front chairs got occupied by Jeelen, Deechana, and then, after an empty one, Inius.

I was slightly behind Soch-Eena and she turned and took an immediate seat in the back.

Might sitting next to her cause me to look like a creep over-estimating the amount of comradery generated from our mission, or would skipping a seat make me look cold or racist?

I arbitrarily chose to sit next to her.

I could heavily feel her proximity until Civello came back in my view as he took a seat and turned his chair towards us. This was it, the meeting we'd come all the way here for.

"Welcome, boys, young lady," he said with a quick nod to Soch-Eena. "Our faithful spy already told us a bit about the crazy happenings in the palace, but I wanted to meet with a few of you before the rest to hear how the battle went."

He leaned in a bit, as if connecting with us for soldier-to-soldier tough guy talk. "Claiming the palace from those bastards went smoothly, didn't it?" he said. It didn't go quite as well as I'd expected, but not terrible either.

"Fairly, sir," Inius responded. "I recorded our losses right here." He removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to the Commander.

The Commander took it.

Civello's eyes moved side to side. His brow started to furrow. If memory served we'd lost six men, but a couple of them were tribals. Were the tribals on that list? If so, that would elicit some questions.

He then set the paper back on his desk and looked up. "Well, I'm sorry for your losses, but I assume the palace is well under control."

"Quite so, sir. We enlisted the help of a local tribe to secure the installation. Most of the staff surrendered, though we believe a few may have escaped."

"Local tribe..." Civello said, almost rubbing his chin as he took more interest in our allies than our enemies. "Well, I wouldn't be too quick to trust the locals, but it seems they helped you. Either way, we'll soon have another platoon there to control the base all by ourselves."

But he still seemed pensive, perhaps being a bit thrown off by the news of our alliance with the Keseepa. I wasn't totally comfortable with the tribals occupying the Argonian Royal Court's former headquarters in such capacity with the Legionaries, but from what I'd seen it was a good relationship.

Then Commander Civello seemed to kick back a bit, at least superficially. "Now, one of the main reasons I called you all here was to see if you wanted to recommend any of your fellow soldiers for medals. We have a ceremony planned to celebrate the incorporation of central Black Marsh and the Thrassian Isles into the Empire. It's scheduled a couple weeks from now, and we might want to present some trinkets at it. All of you will receive a Imperial Legion Distinguished Expeditionary Ribbon for accepting a mission in the darkest corner of Tamriel, but I'd like to know if any of you had any other suggestions." There was a nice warmth in getting asked for input from the Legion's top man, such a casual relationship between such distant rings of command.

I started to think about the question, but Inius quickly spoke, "I'd like to recommend Lance Corporal Fidelis for a reward for bravery, sir. He was instrumental in working alone to dispatch multiple guards on the roof." That hardship was recognized! "Soch-Eena would also be a top-notch candidate for medal recipience, as she provided our soldiers timely assistance at the palace's northern set of stairs, no doubt reducing our casualties." We'd gotten even more fame! The world was steadfast to compensate us for our deeds.

"Fidelis, Soch-Eena," Civello said, giving us each a glance in the eyes, "I'm glad to hear you delivered another admirable performance. I think you'll likely be looking at an additional shiny trinket in the future." Ten-thousand septims, a ribbon, a medal, and a name in the history books.

Inius continued, "The Argonian Royal Court also subjected Lance Corporal Fidelis to some very extreme Hist sap experimentation. I think he should be the one to show you the results. I believe he deserves attention as soon as we sufficiently understand how the Argonian Royal Court was able to use Hist sap to achieve such effects." I realized Civello still hadn't seen, or noticed, what was under this robe. What a surprise he'd be in for! I'd almost forgotten those parts, being so immersed in the warm meeting.

"C'mere Fidelis," said the Commander. He was about to be amazed by a phenomenon I'd comparatively gotten used to.

I stood up. I squeezed past the back of a chair and Soch-Eena's legs, walking towards the desk. It had been days since someone new had seen the changes, and one would assume he wouldn't peel his eyes from it quickly. Again I was the star of the meeting, though this time it was as much in fame as infamy.

He'd probably seen some ugly scars in his career, but nothing like this. I pinched the robe to lift the left sleeve.

"Mother Mara!" he quietly exclaimed as he examined the monstrous claw. That didn't help my self-esteem, but I let him look. No doubt it seemed completely unreal to him, and I hadn't underestimated what a freak it made me.

He whispered half to himself, "So that explains the baggy robe."

And he hadn't seen my legs. That would change. "It gets better," I said. I lifted up a heavy fold of the garment to reveal about half a shin.

"By the Nine," he whispered. It had been thousands of years since a human had grown scales.

He broke his gaze. I dropped the robe again. Those parts would be the unfortunate legacy of the mission for some time. He made eye-contact with me once more. "I'll be sure to have that situation fixed up for you as soon as I can. In the mean time, don't attract too much attention to those features. We don't want the public to know about this Hist sap stuff just yet." Like I'd want anyone to see anyway...

I turned to go back to my seat, but heard, "Oh, Fidelis," I swiveled back, "if you need any...assistance...you know, more baggy robes, or a place to eat where you can lift your hands without catching any stares, just knock on my door any time. You're a patriot. You deserve the best." I was glad he took pity on me. It was nice to have someone powerful to fall back on.

"Thanks," I said and headed to my chair.

Funny thing was, not long ago I'd been lamenting the scar on my face. Now I'd nearly forgotten it.

I squeezed past Soch-Eena's legs and sat down again.

The Commander cleared his throat, though probably just to buy time to remember where he'd left off. "Now," he continued, "from being on this expedition you all know a lot more than the average Legionary. That's going to open up some...opportunities for you in the future, but try to keep yourselves quiet about the things you saw at that little mansion. I'm deeming that classified information, level Hope-Bringer. That means you shouldn't talk to anybody below Colonel about it unless they are directly involved Hist-sap based operations. Ignoring those parameters is considered treason."

He shifted in his chair. "Don't be surprised if you're called back here in a few months and...sent to some far away lands." What was that supposed to mean? "I assure you all you'll be paid handsomely for those missions too, so don't think about getting a new job." Had the experience at the palace opened up some behind the scenes action for us?

"Speaking of which..." he said, shifting to a lighter tone and reaching for something under his desk. But the previous words still stuck. How serious were the assignments they were planning?

He re-emerged and plopped two heavy looking sacks of coins on the table. The reward. "Fidelis! These are for you. Ten-thousand for completing, four-thousand for bringing us that useful map and courageously sticking to the mission even when things got tough, not to mention stumbling on that Hist-sap research project goldmine. Giving us little help with planning the assault on the castle keeps you from the last one-thousand, yet you should be proud of your work nonetheless." Though I was still thinking about his earlier words, that was a hefty sum of money.

I got up and walked over, the new cash about to be at my finger tips.

I took the sack, heavy indeed.

"Thank you, sir," I said and walked back towards my seat. That was the fruit of the last two weeks of hardship in that bag.

As I got back to my chair, I saw Commander Civello looking at me with a sober and earnest expression. Was there something for me to worry about? "Now, I know you--Fidelis and Soch-Eena--worked with two others. We've been informed about their statuses. Ferrand's reward money has been sent to his family in High Rock. M'Nahrahe forfeited the mission, and thus the reward."

The Commander then shifted his gaze firmly to the young woman next to me. "Soch-Eena, you've been given your freedom as promised. Given your work in Thras, we're also affording you a three-thousand septim bonus." He went under his desk again. That was probably 'nothing' compared with her avoiding life in prison or execution.

He came up with another bag.

She stood up. "Thanks," she said as she went over.

Was she thinking she deserved more for saving Tamriel from the Thrassian Plague, or just too grateful to avoid charges of high-treason to care? Or did she see it as a fair compensation for the amount of effort she had to put in?

She took the coins, then pivoted back around.

He kept his gaze on her. "I understand you've been hard pressed to find work since you defected from your former employers. I assure you we have plenty of openings for women in service to Cyrodillic law enforcement, and I have some ideas of what would best suit your future here." It was nice to see that, despite race and regional origins that were stereotypically clashing, we were all getting along silky smoothly.

But then Civello shifted and looked off to the side briefly. "Actually, that subject of employment brings up another issue. Most of the people we sent to the palace won't hear this until they're back, but given the importance of the special knowledge your platoon and our two expeditionaries possess, we see it as best for the Empire to...extend your contracts for some time."

What?

They hadn't told us about this before we left for the mission.

But perhaps they hadn't known.

He looked off to the left, then cleared his throat, leaned in a bit, and continued in a lower voice. "We believe the Hist sap research the Argonian Royal Court was working on has great potential to enhance our own operatives, but due to the risk of it falling in the wrong hands, we'd like to keep its capabilities secret from all but a select few right now. For that reason, it would be best for you, and the rest of you who survived that battle in the castle, to be the first agents of the Empire to...enjoy the gifts the Hist sap could offer." He talked about being subjected to more Hist sap metamorphoses like getting a new horse. It didn't work. Our connection was fading. The end of this mission wasn't all rewards, clearly.

The silence was loud in the room. Though most of us wouldn't have planned to quit this line of work anyway, all those who'd been to the Argonian Royal Court's headquarters were essentially being held in bondage as a reward for our servitude.

He cleared his throat again and continued, "I understand this unexpected for all you but..." He cleared his throat another time."...but I assure you'll all be compensated beyond our normal pay-rate." He kept trying to blanket situations with money.

There was again an awkward silence. How long was he talking about? The Hist sap would at some point catch on to the public but...couldn't it take decades if it was a well kept secret?

I dared ask. I tried to make it sound like innocent curiosity as not to imply objection: "How long are we being kept on retention?"

"Well, uh, that's been a matter of heavy contention. For now your term is indefinite, we..." He paused and looked to the side again. He didn't like that word either, and I was more worried about how the others, particularly attitude-full Jeelen, would receive it. "We may discover the application of Hist sap is not practical at all and release you from your new obligations quite soon. However, we expect to be able to keep our discovery under-wraps for...at least the next seven years or so."

_Seven years._ The more time these special missions dragged on, the less money seemed to matter.

The silence was thick in the air.

"Anyway..." he said with a sort of unsteadiness in his voice, the ambience of this meeting now permanently set off kilter, "Soch-Eena, you can find all the jobs available at the recruitment desk. There are pamphlets which provide the details, but we'd particularly recommend the Imperial City Undercover Criminal Investigations Department or the Imperial City Precision Stealth Operations Department. If you want to be a slop drudge or military courier, though, we're giving you that liberty."

Commander Civello picked up a piece of paper from his desk, then said "Jeelen, Deechana, Inius, from here you will journey back to Fort Doublecross. And Densius, while we were originally planning on putting you to work in the city, I understand this may not be optimal given your...condition. Rather, I'll consider making arrangements for you at Fort Homestead or Fort Urasek. You'll get to do some work in the Imperial City once you...get better." They were isolating their freak in a fort until the government brought back the elixir to my ails.

Giovanni picked up his handkercheif and wiped his brow. Then he put it down, looked back up, and continued. "Like I said to you before, we assure you all the time spent during this...unexpected extension will be...significantly more lucrative than your normal pay-rate." As if cash was the main motivator in a profession like this. "We'll inform you of the terms after the ceremony."

There was quiet. A ceremony would mark our victory, but also something less welcoming. Civello looked off to the side again.

"Well, uh...Dismissed, soldiers. Inius, Deechana, Jeelen, Fort Doublecross is expecting you. Fidelis, give me a couple of hours to think over your predicament and we can discuss it over dinner in this office. Soch-Eena, take this evening to consider what part you'd like to play in the city watch, and come back here to sign up tomorrow."

Civello turned back to some paper work, though I knew his mind wasn't fully there.

Nonetheless, we took that as our cue to get up. My brain was stuck in the meeting, though.

The Hist sap, drakes, and I would still be brothers for years to come, for better or worse.

Now my 'deformities' seemed like a lot less of an issue, unfortunately.

I opened the door, now leading the group though hardly feeling like its head. Uniformed men, all in mundane duties I'd once been a part of, walked to and from various doors. I was about to be secluded from that sort of life. I was about to be in a world of secrecy and faceless infamy.

I got onto steep steps and began climbing up them. We went through the portals.

The sun was just starting to set. Now we were back outdoors, the tall, high, iconic palace staring at us. Those who'd participated in the raid were something different, forced to be for a significant chunk of our lives.

I wasn't in any mood to go back to the city. There was too much to think about. Maybe it would be nice to just stay here, away from the noisy urban life.

To give the three soldiers an excuse to pass me, I pretended to see something on my robe. They were already engaged in a conversation. They flowed past without much thought.

I looked up from the imaginary anomaly. They were walking and conversing unphased; They'd already forgotten me.

The meeting had loaded a lot on my mind: future as a freak, upcoming missions as a top-secret Hist sap soldier, and, with the least gravity, a dinner with the Legion Commander in two hours.

I decided to find peace among nature, where there was no such thing as a freak. I turned to my five o'clock, planning to find a quite spot in the perimeter of this 'district.'

I was a bit jarred to see Soch-Eena standing in that area, a couple of yards off the path. She was staring, glassy-eyed, at the tower.

She noticed I was looking at her. With that, her expression seemed to flatten and she acted relaxed, as if nothing was on her mind. She went back to looking at the tower with a faux casualness.

I decided I'd ask her what was wrong. First I would approach.

It was just us two out here. The birds tweeted. She continued to stare ahead. She was pretending to not notice me, but it was obvious she was thinking about my approach.

Soon I would be off the man-made path too.

Now my feral feet patted grass and dirt.

Then I was very close. She continued to act as if she didn't notice.

Then I finally pushed out, "Is something wrong?"

She turned to look at me briefly, a stone expression, then looked back.

"Nothing," she said.

There was more silence.

I looked up at the tower, the symbol of Empire, so much higher than everything else here, then looked back at her.

Something was pent up in her. I could feel the words on the tip of her tongue.

Then she said, "Just wondering if there was something to this mission we weren't let on about." What did that mean?

Was she saying that out of bitterness towards our retention? I was still not sure how to feel about that. Without looking back at her, I asked, "Why do you say that?"

"It seems suspicious they'd send a group like us to get proof of the Argonian Royal Court. You only survived in there out of luck." She was right.

It did seem like an odd, rag-tag group. Why not just send four Argonians? Maybe because then they could come back with the flu and spread it to Cyrodiil. But one Argonian could do that too. Still, what ulterior motives would cause them to choose a bad group on purpose?

"What exactly do you suspect?" I asked. She was starting to sound like an avid, bitter conspiracy theorist, but I knew she was no crackpot.

"I suspect the Elder Council was striving to create a representative sample of the Legion, to test if a large number of troops could survive in the central swamps," she replied. That made some sense. So they'd callously let Ferrand die in a test?

We, the two that had contributed the greatest, now seemed the most cynical

"You mean for occupation of that area?" I inquired.

"Yeah," she replied.

I was quiet for a while, brooding over it. Would the Elder Council do such a thing? How else would they know if a human could survive in the Inner Swamps with modern medicine? It would be logistically hard to find a willing test subjects.

But it was benevolent deception. A few deaths would definitely be worth such a test, and it would have been painful if we knew we'd signed on for that. They'd done the right thing, but...

What to say? It felt a bit callous to endorse them with Ferrand's death mentioned not long ago.

She then said, "I also suspect Ocato didn't want to know if the Argonian Royal Court was there." Huh?

"What do you mean?" I asked, now having no idea what she was getting at, but intrigued given here last point.

"He only asked us to bring back proof. Bringing back evidence was the only way to get our reward. He didn't ask for the truth," she stated. She'd dug into the motives of authority figures, the Empire at least, ruthlessly. Normally I would have been emotionally hostile to her kind, but she was making sense, and I knew her too well, struggled along side her too long, to feel angry at her for those sorts of statements.

"You mean he would have wanted us to forge proof if we couldn't find any?" All these claims felt like a punch in the stomach.

"He wanted an excuse to become Emperor," the Argonian said plainly. "Or maybe to go into Argonia. I'm not sure which." Or perhaps to deal with the Knights of the Nine.

It seemed like an Arcane University Mystic's conspiracy theory, yet...

...definitely possible, too.

I noticed I was shaking a tiny bit from the emotion of all that had transpired in the last twenty minutes.

But we needed an Emperor, and Argonia needed us. I couldn't hold it against Ocato for such deception. He had deceived me just as I had deceived Soch-Eena with the bracelet, even if when we both would have gone along anyway.

Again, I didn't know what to say. Was insubordination on her mind? I wanted her to see that Ocato's theoretical deceptions were still righteous.

Trying to invite a little optimism, but knowing it would be all the more painful to try to convince a cynic of the Empire when I liked her, I said, "I think we did the right thing anyway. This place really needed an Emperor."

Out of the corner of my eye it seemed she looked down briefly, then back up.

"I can't say I regret my actions," she stated, "but I think the new man in the palace is someone to watch."

Okay, not an answer to worry about.

She spoke again. "It was essentially the story of my life to see good people do bad things. Most of the Shadowscales at Gideon thought we were the worlds' angels." She paused once more. The Imperial Legion _was_ going to have indoctrinated children to deal with at the various Shadowscale sanctuaries, and I'd seen children in the palace, never thinking to ask what had happened to them. "I don't doubt they're all going to die fighting."

Some the troops who'd fought the last of the resistance downstairs did seem a little distracted, something behind their eyes, but I'd thought it was simply the loss of a friend. Maybe not.

But the Shadowscales would be a small, ugly part of the liberation of a province kept in darkness for so long.

Yet there were also the things she'd said about Ocato. They were darkly alluring...

From this conversation, so much had flooded me.

Maybe given some time to think it over my suspicions would settle down, but it looked like the Empire had a clever, sneaky, disingenuous plot weaver leading it now; Yet a noble one, even if the nobility was not a glorious kind. He'd pulled our strings and only this former criminal had realized it. It probably came naturally to her to see through the law, but she was still on our side.

Ocato deserved support for now, but he was indeed someone to watch.

I wasn't sure if I should move. I'd almost forgotten my desire for privacy with everything she'd said.

I decided to continue the conversation, "We'll be able to watch him pretty closely in the future. If we're going to operate in secret with the Hist sap, they're going to have to _tell_ _us_ some secrets."

A butterfly fluttered across the bridge.

"The two of us should have plenty to observe," she said. "From what you told me, Tamriel needs a lot of fixing."

"Well, once they really figure out the Hist sap, we'll be better equipped to fix Tamriel than ever before."

Then there was silence again.

Maybe it was a privilege to be part of the special missions given to the wiser of us. It would provide a great story to tell if the Hist sap secret was revealed in my life time, and if I had children they'd be all the more proud of who their father was.

The sky behind the large stone tower, the symbol of Third Empire, many Empires in fact, was turning orange in the early winter sunset.

The Oblivion Crisis had done a lot of damage, but soon the Empire's government might have the tools to patch this continent back up.

We weren't working for honest people, perhaps, but we were working for the right people, the people who would bring hope back to Tamriel.

A gust of wind blew a leaf into the air.

There would be rough times ahead, because there were rough times on Mundus. But perhaps, when so many people suspected its collapse, I was witnessing Cyrodiil getting back up on its feet, to give promise to an Era no worse, and perhaps with the wisdom we'd acquired, better, than the last.

The White-Gold Tower stood tall against the sky, a glorious construction, a symbol of order and civilization, which had endured Tamriel's ugliest moments for millennia.

We could make it. We _would_ make it. And maybe the participants in the palace raid would play no small role in shaping that safe, prosperous future.


End file.
